


Vanity Fair

by Orilynn



Series: Albion Fair [1]
Category: Fable 2 (Video Game), Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Adultery, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Mental Illness, Pedophilia, Royalty, mild insanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:46:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orilynn/pseuds/Orilynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can't say I've led an uneventful life, this is certain."<br/>"That is true, madam. And I must say, I applaud you for enduring it all."<br/>The story of queen Sparrow's reign over her beloved Albion, and the (emotional) battles she fought along the way. Originally posted on my FF.net account, currently being re-read and re-worked.<br/>On indefinite haitus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I: A Hero Is Born

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is still a work in progress. First in the series, too. If you see anything that needs fixing, feel free to hit me up. Seriously, I need all the help I can get.  
> Anyway, this is my baby, and I hope you enjoy. :)

 

 

 

 

**Act I Part I  
A Hero Is Born**

* * *

A girl.

Sparrow had just given birth to a beautiful baby girl. As she looked down at her daughter, she could feel nothing but love toward the little darling. She squirmed for a couple seconds, finally settling in her mother's arms, calmed by Sparrow's soothing stroking of her the soft, light caramel skin of her face. She couldn't help the tears that came now. She whispered a single thing, ever-so quietly, "Rose." Her name was given.

She suddenly felt the wave of exhaustion washing over her, after those many hours of labour. Her eyes fluttered, the weight lifted from her as someone took the baby from her arms, and Garth sat down next her on her bed. She remained, however, conscious, watching through half-closed eyes as her husband delicately held his daughter in his arms. He remained so calm, collected, as if he felt not even half of the emotion Sparrow did, but she knew better than to feel foolish about loving someone.

"Rose," he muttered plainly, no hint of emotion. Then a tear rolled down his cheek, something that surprised his wife immensely. His face remained unchanged, though when he spoke, his voice shook ever-so slightly. "Hello, I suppose... I'm your father."

Perhaps it was just sheer shock that she even existed that made Garth cry for the first time in Avo knows how long. Sparrow had been praying every night since they had been married for a child. Of course, he was a little older, and they had trouble conceiving. It nearly tore the poor woman apart, which made him feel guilty for being so selfish. He promised himself they day they made their escape from the spire together he wouldn't let himself feel anything more for the girl.

Of course, he always found himself drawn to her. Even in her spire guard uniform, there had been something appealing about her. It must have been the way she literally glowed. Her soft, pale skin had this certain way of catching in the light perfectly. With such a beautiful face – features so soft, eyes that sparkled in the light, hair that fell so perfectly around even a sweat-drenched face – she could have had her pick of the men.

She had picked him.

"Are you alright?" Sparrow asked softly, drawing him from his thought. She tilted her head to one side, confusion and worry mixing together and leaving her with a sort of childish innocence twinkling in her eyes. She struggled to sit up, but she managed to reach him, her lips brushing over his cheek gently, still fighting off sleep.

"Fine," he replied firmly, standing back up. He placed a snuggly wrapped Rose in her crib, lingering over her for a minute or two. He stared at her long and hard, still amazed at how easily and peacefully she slept. She was just so... wonderful. He leaned over and kissed the baby's forehead gently before heading back towards the bed.

With the doctor and a couple visiting friends finally having been cleared from the house, Sparrow finally gave into sleep. Garth watched her for a while, settling in a chair. He thought about his family. He thought about his daughter that could not yet open her eyes, and what she would see when she did. The world still had such great imperfections. It was no place for such a sweet little girl.

He made up his mind. He stood up and made for his study.

Having gathered what little belongings he needed, he headed back upstairs. After kissing Rose once more, he slowly approached the sleeping Sparrow. He knelt over her to brush the hair from her face. He kissed her newly exposed cheek. Sparrow was startled however.

Her eyes flickered open. "What's going on? Where are you going?"

"Just to get some cheese. We're out."

She meant to protest, knowing deep down that no stall venders in their right mind would be selling their wares at this time of night, but she was simply to tired. He got up and slowly made his way downstairs.

Sparrow slept like no other night she could remember. Maybe it was because she had never felt so tired in her life, or because she had never felt so safe. Tucked away from the bustling world in their cute little farm in Brightwood that she had bought from her old friend, farmer Giles, not too far from Garth's Tower, she felt no worries. She loved it there, knowing the Tower was a short walk away, and would serve as a fantastic shelter in case of emergency, and few people with the courage to take her on in battle would stumble upon it. And of course, she always felt safe sleeping next to Garth.

"Garth." She sat up abruptly in bed, only just realizing his absence. How long had he been gone? It was midnight, and he hadn't returned. When had he left? She didn't even know. Of course she couldn't have bothered to check the time when he had left. The one time she forgot, it really mattered. Every time he left, she counted the minutes, until she knew he should have been back. He always showed just in time.

She couldn't help but feel worried. She was just about to hop out of bed and rush out to look for him when the realization brought on by the cry of baby Rose hit her like a rock full on in the temple. It was a sharp pain that quickly drew tears. Of course, it was the sudden migraine, not the metaphorical rock that left her in unbearable pain.

Rose had crying for a while, something Sparrow managed to gather from her level of distress. Her face was read like a tomato, her blanket tossed aside by her persistent fussing. Her abnormal strength gave her mother pride. The baby was sure to make a great hero, not that she would allow her daughter to pursue such a dangerous career...

The tiny baby cradled in her arms, Sparrow went back over to her own bed, ready for the great plight set before her. She first checked the cloth diaper to find the first task. She was sure a good meal would be next, the liberating of gasses... Yes, all tasks absolutely terrified her: especially the part about not being able to search for Garth.

Baby calmed and already half asleep, Sparrow scavenged the cupboards. She was starving, and thought she deserved a reward for taking care of herself and the newborn. She found it ridiculous Garth had left them alone, unfair, even. Unsafe? Probably. But she didn't care to think about him at the moment. No, her stomach ached to be filled, and her heart ached to bring him home.

"I will kill him next time I see him," she mumbled through the half a wheel of... cheese she had shoved into her mouth. She thought about what she held in her right hand once more. "Twice."

Having devoured every last bit of food in the house, Sparrow flopped down on the bed. She lay face down, breathing heavily into the thick, fur blankets, thinking about methods of torture to inflict upon her husband upon his return. Why he did this to her was as horribly unclear as a mud puddle. All she ever gave him was love. All she wanted back was for him to take the occasional precaution, maybe warn her if he planned to stay out extra late, or even the odd 'I love you' might be nice. But, no! Garth was that annoying lone wolf type through and through – strong and stoic; 24/7.

No matter how hard Sparrow tried, she could never melt him enough to reach that rich, gooey, chocolatey centre she once believed was there, and has never ceased to dampen her spirits. At first, having been without a lover for so long before they met, she thought it only natural he hardly even spoke to her half the time, rarely kissed back, and often refused to touch her the way she so desperately needed him to. But during the two years they spent apart after he had walked out telling her he simply did not love her, she was taught better by an old friend of hers.

Funny to think that even a cruel, egotistical megalomaniac like Reaver knows how loves should go. Not just the physical – to doubt his knowledge of that was simply pure idiocy – but he somehow managed to have a firm grasp on the emotional stuff. Maybe it was that girl he wrote about in his diary... Whatever the case, he knew his stuff, and Sparrow was eternally thankful for it, and it was after that she had confronted Garth, doing so believing she would earn his respect, and therefore his heart. It was after that he had softened up slightly.

Sparrow fell asleep without knowing it, on top of the covers and everything. The sight both amused Garth thoroughly, and brought a sudden pang of guilt – enough to surface a momentary smile, and bring a tear or two his eyes – when he arrived, just as the morning sun began to filter through the curtains. He fell on the bed beside his wife, taking care not to wake her as he removed the covers out from under her and threw them over her.

He pulled at the bandage wrapped around a great length of his left arm, wincing in pain. The knowledge it would heal abnormally fast comforted him enough to let it be, but the thought of the deep purple bruise than ran along his entire forearm lingered in his mind. He knew Sparrow would enquire about it when she woke, which made him slightly anxious for morning, but not so much so not to sleep.

He had already planned out what he would say: the usual lies and complete utter bullshit he continued to shove down her throat. The lies hurt him more than they hurt her, and they served a purpose. Garth knew his days were coming to an end way before hers, and he didn't think it would be fair to leave her unable to go on. He thought it was selfish to even encourage her love for him by playing along for this long, but he had managed to keep his emotional wall in tact all this time still.

The thought that perhaps never having claimed his heart fully would eternally torment Sparrow after his departure from this world, or even the thought her husband didn't care for her was slowly driving her mad had plagued his mind once or twice before, but he knew better. Sparrow was stronger than that...right? Physically strong indeed. Emotionally... Of course. She always seemed so strong, even after saving Albion and being left without a family she remained strong.

Then again, considering how much she loved her sister, and how much unconditional love her sister had shown her, perhaps... No, Garth had made up his mind.

He would shed no tears for her. No tears. None.

Sparrow's eyes met his. Surely it was a dream. Garth would never cry. Ever. And she refused to cry in front of him.

Garth kissed a tear from the young hero's cheek, brushing the hair from her face and pulling her closer. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, enjoying her scent, hiding his own tears in the thick brown waves. Sparrow in turn kissed every bit of him she could, taking advantage of his sudden change of heart. She knew moments like this were rare, and she wasn't about to waste being able to feel close to him. And when he finally untangled himself from her hair, he immediately claimed her lips for his own.

Sparrow pulled back, her feeling of betrayal slowly coming back to her. "Where the  _hell_  have you been?" She paused between each word, finding it difficult to focus on her anger as Garth's hungry lips ravished her body.

He stopped and his eyes met hers again, enjoying having her simply melt into his arms. "I...got you something." He looked off. "It wasn't easy, and it took a lot of hard negotiation and  _then_ some..."

Sparrow could see something strange in his eyes. Something she had never seen before within him, and she panicked for a moment until she realized – But, no... it couldn't be... pride? "What?"

"Albion."

 


	2. A Business Proposition

  
**Act I Part II**   
**A Most Interesting Plan**   


* * *

Sparrow sat upon the glorious throne of Fairfax castle, looking around the throne room, admiring the art that adorned the walls, the colourful banners that hung from the ceiling and the statues that looked stood tall, gazing down at those who passed.. She was in preparation for the coronation, and she couldn't believe what was happening.

The people of Albion adored her – why, she wasn't sure. Perhaps it was for her sacrifice, which wasn't so great – only her canine companion – or maybe it was from eliminating the evil lord who threatened the land. Again, this couldn't possibly make up for all her wrongs. She  _had_ beena criminal, after all. She wasn't proud of her history; it was long and unpleasant, leaving a revolting trail of carnage in its trail. It made her sick to think of what she had done, but she was different now.

At least, she thought she was...

There came a knock at the large wooden doors. Sparrow snapped to attention, and called for them to enter. She had been waiting all week, but she couldn't say she was looking forward to this particular meeting.

In came a man dressed in odd fashion, an outfit comprised of mostly a red fabric. His hair was freshly cut and he was looking simply radiant. Beside him stood a young boy of about eight, who wore a similar outfit that favoured purple rather than red, and in a much smaller size, and the man was taller than usual to begin with.

"My dear old friend! What a pleasure it is-"

"Save it, Reaver."

Sparrow shot him a look, her face cold as ice, causing him to back away suddenly. He looked to his younger companion, edging him forward with a tilt of the head, mouthing words the queen-to-be couldn't quite make out.

She looked at the boy, noticing he didn't look quite well. His face was drained of all colour apart from the deep purple bags around his eyes. She couldn't deny he reminded her of his father, which made her – admittedly – sick . An image of his pasty white face came to mind. The mere thought of him caused her lunch to rise in her throat.

Unable to take it anymore, she turned away, looking to the window. She swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears from coming. "Why did you bring him here, Reaver?" she asked, he voice shaky. "I thought we were to talk of business, not disgusting bastard children of artificial, vile, meaningless life."

A sob escaped the boy's throat, his body shaking violently. He ran to Reaver and buried himself in the man's side.

"Now look what you've done! And you say his father is vile..." He smirked at her, seeing a spark of anger in her eyes. The smugness faded, becoming what Sparrow thought might possibly be genuine sorrow. He looked down at the boy, taking him into his arms, picking him up and holding him tightly in his arms. "Ssh, it's okay, my little darling."

"Nobody loves me," the boy sobbed.

"Now, I love you, my boy!"

Sparrow sighed, her lip twitching, her eyes threatening to betray her as she continued to fight back tears. She watched as the man she thought of as heartless comforting this boy, caressing his face, holding him tightly... She could never do that with the child of something so disgusting.

"Are we going to do this, or not?" Sparrow asked, growing tired of the display. She looked to Reaver, who put the distraught boy down, and ruffled his hair. He looked back to his business partner and smiled politely. "Good, now, follow me."

She led him to the study, which was now cleaned of Lucien's old research and crazy gadgets. She had set up a proper work area, where she had been taking care of everything of late; finance, catering and guests of honour for the coronation, requests from the citizens of Albion...

Sitting down in the chair behind her desk, she motioned for Reaver to have a seat in front of her. Having done so, he looked at the plans laid out before him. "What's this?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Reaver, you're a man of many talents, and many riches. What I'm suggesting is industrialization. It's all the rage down South, and I want a piece of that; something to bring to the table as the new queen. It'll be a right proper revolution – everything will be able to be done with machinery. The possibilities are quite nearly endless. While he get most of these simple things from overseas, we can produce it ourselves."

"What do you want of me?" he asked.

"I need someone to finance it, of course," Sparrow replied.

"And what do I get in return?"

"It'll set you up for life as far as money goes – once the cash starts rolling in. And I know you can't resist money... The kingdom will be... in your debt, you could say."

Reaver paused, looking over her for a second. "And... how do you plan on doing this, exactly?"

"Everything will belong to the royal family – we get a cut of everything. We own the land, we own the business."

"Ingenious, my friend... And you say you have the technology for the job? I know it's everywhere in some places... but you brought it here?" He smiled, looking back to the plans. "And what do you plan on making in these factories of yours?"

"Not mine, but the people's," she replied with a smile. "They can do whatever they very well please, as long as I get my money." She watched as his expression grew distant, his smile growing. She didn't like that. "Now, don't you get any ideas... I don't I like the idea of you in the manufacturing business."

"Really? I  _do_ have many talents..."

"Not in my lifetime will there be a day you open an Avo-knows-what factory."

Reaver pushed his chair back, that sly smile returning as he held out his hand. "Factory of my own or not, I'll help you." His smile grew as Sparrow took his hand and shook it, his mind running at no less than a million miles a second as it set to work on how he could use this arrangement to his advantage. Of course, he was raising a child at the moment he could easily use as a puppet; stick him on the throne when the queen dies, and he'd do whatever he pleased. But that'd be too easy.

Little did he know, the boy was growing a mind of his own – a noble one, despite his unfavourable background. But that's a story for another time.

As they once again reached the throne room, they found the boy running around, shouting orders to people who simply weren't there, judging criminals that existed in his mind alone, and listening to pleas of citizens that were nothing but silence. They stood and watched in awe as this child with unmentionable origins was playing as if he were simply a kid. Of course, this is what he was, despite their beliefs.

Sparrow smiled at the innocence on her son's face, forgetting the Commandant and those many years she spent under his command and even his person that lead to his birth. For the first time, she felt some affection for the boy. She felt tears in her eyes – of which nature, she couldn't decide. She walked over to him, knelt over, and wrapper her arms around him for the first time since his birth.

"Mother," he whispered, remaining stiff as a board. "What-"

She shushed him, her arms tightening around him. She buried her face in his black hair, letting the tears run freely now. The boy was crying too, finally able to hug his mother, to feel her warmth.

Reaver cleared his throat. He would never admit it – and thank Avo no one had seen – that he, too, had cried. He had long ago decided to leave those mushy feelings behind, but he like the boy a great deal. Cared for him, even. Loved him, perhaps. "Come now, Logan. We really must be getting back now."


	3. The Queen's Ascent

  
**Act I Part III**   
**The Queen's Ascent**   


* * *

The sound of celebration was to be heard throughout all of Bowerstone to celebrate a new beginning, and a new age in Albion's history. The streets were crowded with happy citizens ready to for their new leader to ascend to the thrown, each and everyone of them excited, all for many for different reasons. There hadn't been a been a monarch to guide Albion for hundreds of years – Bowerstone hadn't even had a proper leader since lord Lucien disappeared.

One man in particular was extremely happy about the change in power, especially about what spoils awaited him. He licked his lips at the thought, taking another sip from his glass, looking to the boy beside him.

Logan was giving him those big puppy dog eyes, and he couldn't resist. Reaver handed him the glass with a warning, "Not too much, or you're mother  _will_ be able to tell. She doesn't like it when her guests show up intoxicated – I'll tell you that. She prefers to get them drunk herself!" The boy acknowledged this with a vigorous nod, bringing the glass he held tightly using both of his hands to his lips. Reaver laughed as the boy spit out the alcohol and began coughing violently, wiping his tongue with his pale hand.

"Disgusting," Logan said. "How could you feed me something so foul?" He spit on the floor, earning a frown from his guardian.

"It's an acquired taste," Reaver replied. "Much like children." He ruffled the boy's hair and pulled him onto his lap. The boy settled in, his tiny hands grabbing at the fabric of the man's suit.

Meanwhile, the queen-to-be was having a rather unpleasant time, rushing about, ordering people around, trying to make every little remaining detail perfect. Her husband watched the reflection of Sparrow in the mirror in amusement as she flopped down on the bed in exasperation.

He was dressed in regal attire – something that suited the older mage in a strange way – looking at himself one more time, he sighed and turned to her. "You think you're having troubles?" He gestured to the problematic buttons that had no holes.

"There's to be a change to the menu for the feast. The errand boys have been searching for what the chef needed to prepare the main dish, as it seemed to have magically disappeared this morning, but they haven't been able to find it anywhere!" Sparrow cried, rubbing her temples, paying no attention to Garth's attempts to humour her.

"It'll be fine," he replied with a sigh. "You're making a big deal out of nothing. Who cares what we eat?"

"Reaver most certainly cares, and I do not wish to have him making a scene! He helped pick out the menu, and I don't think he'll appreciate it if I lay his careful planning to waste."

Garth sat down next to her, moving the hair from her face and planting a kiss on her forehead, ignoring the eye roll. "That man's impossible. Remind me why you let him back in your life, again?"

She sat up, looking at him as though she couldn't believe he had just asked that question."When Logan was first born, he was there, and you most certainly were not."

"Well, you knew very I had no idea of his existence. You failed to mention that you were with child when we were together. And I don't think we were-"

"What about when we were completely bankrupt, with nothing to our name? Reaver paid for our entire wedding, no questions asked, no payment needed. And don't forget that when you left-"

"Alright, that's enough." His voice was firm and loud, making Sparrow jump. He turned away from her, feeling something snap inside of him. He didn't like it when she brought that up. He wasn't proud of leaving – it had been a time of great weakness. But she could never leave it be even when she knew how he felt about the subject. "I get that Reaver was there when I wasn't, and I'm sorry. Forget I even asked."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the ticking of the clock, the both of them afraid to speak. Sparrow didn't like it when he was angry. It scared her, even. She knew that stress wasn't good for him, which made her guilty for bringing it upon him.

Sparrow reached out to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shook it off and stood up, looking back at her. "Come, now. Your subjects await you."

* * *

The dinner guests took their seats around the large table, sitting with their own little group they were chatting with, the newly crowned queen at one end, her king at the other. On either side of the queen were Reaver and Hannah, while two politicians Garth didn't really know sat beside him. Beside Reaver was little Logan, who sat across from one of the high monks from the North Hannah had brought with her for the occasion.

As the appetizers were served, conversation went up, while the queen remained silent, occasionally up from her food to look at Garth, who never once looked up from his plate. He picked at his food, pushing it around his plate, never actually eating anything. Sparrow, too, did this; her stomach was too upset for her to eat.

Logan noticed this, and he sat watching his mother, feeling rather uncomfortable seeing the tension between her and Garth. When Reaver saw the boy hadn't touched his food, he urged the boy eat, but Logan, instead, tilted his head towards Sparrow. It took Reaver a while to clue in, but once he had, he felt something go off inside him. Before he knew, he grinning like an idiot. Hannah looked at him in disgust, only able to guess why he must be smiling.

"Sparrow..." Hannah touched the woman's hand gently. Sparrow met her gaze, and immediately saw the concern in her eyes. "Is there anything bothering you?" she asked in a whisper.

"I don't think I should say..."

"Secrets?" asked Reaver. "Do tell!"

Sparrow silenced him with an icy glare, daring him to say another word. "It's my own private business. This is between me and Garth..." She cursed at the slip, regretting it the moment she saw that evil, delighted little glint in Reaver's eyes.

"Problem with the hubby?  _Scandalous_ ," he nearly squealed in delight.

Logan, who had been listening the whole time, looked up, eyes wide, at his mother. "Mum, if you're leaving Garth, you could always marry daddy," he said.

"You're father is dead, Logan," she said, her disgust rather apparent in her tone of voice. And then it hit Her, even before the boy clarified.

"I meant Reaver."

Sparrow eyed him carefully, surprised at this. "That would never work, as the two of us have an agreement. Reaver is like my..." She struggled to find the word she looking for.

"Girlfriend?" suggested the High Monk, catching the others off guard.

"Yes..." Sparrow began, but quickly corrected herself, "NO! I mean like... Yes, well..." She looked to Hannah, who shrugged, then to Reaver. He was watching her in amusement, his smile growing as she babbled on. "I'm not leaving him... I... You're like..." She let out a loud grunt of frustration, pushing her chair back and standing up suddenly. "I need to go the washroom," she announced.

"I'll come with you," offered Reaver, trying desperately not giggle like the school girl he so felt like.

She was at a loss for words, and instead starred him in disbelief. Tilting her head to one side, and asked rather loudly, "What in Avo's name are talking about?"

Reaver shrugged his shoulders, and plainly said, "Is that not what girlfriends do?"

His smugness was definitely starting to piss her off. Too tired to argue, too annoyed to handle his behaviour, she decided to take this opportunity to talk to him. In private. So, she had absolutely no idea how to respond, apart from, "...yes."

She – very reluctantly – took the arm he Reaver quickly offered her. And so, they went off, arm in arm, to the washroom, as everyone sat and watched, not sure what to think exactly.

Garth knew, however, that he was not at all pleased with his wife running off with such a vile, untrustworthy creature as Reaver. He felt the fork he held in his hand bending beneath his tight grip, and quickly set it down. The wheels of his mind were turning at and amazing speed as he tried to imagine what could possibly be going on, and he most certainly did not like what he came up with.

He couldn't deny he hated the ex-pirate with a passion that burned with the heat of a thousand white-hot suns, and that he wouldn't trust him to guard a goat – however random a thing one would need guarded – let alone raise a child. He didn't exactly feel too much affection for the boy, after what he had put Sparrow through, but he was only a child, and children needed proper upbringing. And he didn't exactly believe the boy was treated quite right, despite knowing how much Logan cared for his guardian.

He sat watching Logan for a moment, looking him over for signs of abuse, or something. All he could tell was that the boy had some wicked insomnia. If the boy had any bruises, cuts, or anything of the sort, they would be covered up by his clothes. He seemed to be steady, apart from looking as if he might collapse from exhaustion.

Reaver had the boy alone in that mansion of his, and who knew what he did there after nightfall. For all Garth knew, Logan could subject to physical abuse, or even worse. The thought of the boy being less than a virgin made him sick, and seemed unlikely as that was a whole new low for even Reaver, but he knew there was always a possibility.

Garth had spoken with Logan earlier, and he'd seemed polite enough, but he had noticed something. The boy's breath smelt of whisky, and he didn't much care for it. Alcohol was nothing meant for a growing boy, and he knew that. Why Reaver had given him alcohol, exactly, Garth didn't think he wanted to know.

Sure, Reaver was a fairly sketchy character, but he couldn't deny the boy was happy. At least, he seemed so. And having been raised by a man of wealth was much better than what he and Sparrow had had to offer before now. For the first few years of his life, they had little money, and had some trouble feeding themselves on occasion.

"Mr. King, sir, would you please pass the salt?"

Garth turned to the boy. He couldn't help but smile at how the boy had addressed him, and think that, perhaps, the boy  _was_ just a normal, pleasantly-treated virgin after all.

* * *

"What are you up to, Reaver?"

The question caught him off guard slightly, and he struggled to find an answer. He wasn't exactly up to anything in particular that had to do with her. At least, that he knew off... "Whatever do you mean?" he asked, admiring himself in the mirror above the sink.

Sparrow sighed and look at him. She didn't trust him. "You know exactly what I mean! You've got my eight year-old son playing wing man for you, and you didn't exactly seem sorry to hear about there being problems in my marriage."

"So... there are problems?" he asked, that smug smile returning.

The queen cried out in frustration, throwing her arms up in the air. She sat down on the edge of the bathtub, sighing heavily. Despite her brain screaming at her  _not_ to discuss her problems, she couldn't help it. "I mean, he likes to pretend I'm the only one of us with faults, while he's the one who abandoned me! He's nothing but a coward, unable to handle his emotions, always avoiding confrontation... yet he's not battle-shy! Avo's arse, Reaver; he hasn't touched me since we conceived Rose... that's eleven months, Reaver! Nearly and entire year!" She buried her face in her hands, now unable to stop the tears that came.

Reaver sat down next to the sobbing woman, putting his arm around her. He felt for her, as he, too, had hit his greatest dry spell since Avo knows when – though he would never admit it. He was spending too many quiet nights in with the boy, and no parties meant no eligible men and/or women. It was killing him, but his affection for the boy seemed to be greater than his sexual desires, which was a very new thing for him.

"There there," he said, his tone not too sincere. He didn't want to seem soft, now did he?

Sparrow looked to him with tear filled eyes, her apparent frustration showing in her face. She was angry at Garth for being such a coward, and she was angry for the years she had spent in the spire, and she was angry for the living reminder of her unfavourable sexual experiences there, and she was angry that Reaver always had to be so kind to her despite what she knew him to be. And she hated being able to see through that cold shell of his; to see that he really did care, sometimes – he was just as soft as she – because she wanted so badly not to love him the way she did.

"Tell me, my queen, is there anything I could possibly do to help?" Reaver asked.

She hesitated, for a second to think, not looking away for a second. Finally, she gave in. "Yes."

Reaver was surprised as the queen practically attacked him, their lips locking, her hands finding his hair. Her sudden forced knocked them down into the tub, Sparrow landing on top of him. He didn't exactly put up any resistance what-so-ever, but rather came back with more force than she.

He couldn't deny what he felt for her was something strange, ever-lasting, unwavering, like what he felt for Logan... but different, somehow. It was something he had been feeling for a long time – a very strong desire like none other he had ever felt, and he couldn't exactly say he enjoyed it.

The taste of her lips was intoxicating, and sweet like candy. Soft, perfect, they modelled to fit his as they pieced together the matching puzzle pieces. Soon, the rest of them fit together to, to create one image of sheer perfection like nothing either of them had ever felt before.

A hand tickled Sparrow's thigh as it did an elegant dance along her bare skin. Reaver pulled the dress up further and further, revealing the milky skin that called to him so sweetly.

Sparrow felt something growing in her stomach. It was twisting around in guilt, rendering anything she had been feeling before moot. Her thoughts turned to Garth, that damn conscience of her wishing to ruin everything that made her happy. She cursed it, unable to take it anymore.

She sat up suddenly, pulling away from the undeniable perfection. Reaver looked up at her, confusion showing in his face. His hands rested on her upper thighs, holding her down to his body, where her legs had found their way around his waist. "What's wrong, my queen?" he asked.

"I can't... I shouldn't..." She looked at him, tears forming in her eyes once more. Suddenly, something inside her urged to take back what she had said. She cursed his magical fingers. "...not in my husband's house."

Reaver smirked. "Once the old man goes to sleep, you come to see me immediately, okay?"

The queen nodded, hating herself for doing so, the tears rolling down her cheeks. Reaver sat up, noticing this. He felt something paining him from within his stomach as he watched her cry. It was what he had felt the other day when she'd made Logan cry.

He wiped the tears from her face, and brought her in close to him, driven by a strange instinct. He stood up, holding her in his arms, standing her up in front of the sink. "Fix yourself up," he said. "Don't want anyone getting suspicious, now do we?"


	4. As Quickly As It Began

  
**Act I Part IV  
** **As Quickly As It Began**   


* * *

Sparrow crept slowly through the door, trying desperately not to open it any further - for she knew that if she did the rusty hinges would creak horribly. She looked over at the bed and saw Garth sleeping peacefully. He snored lightly, but remained still beneath the ornate covers of the royal bed. She could hear Rose coughing in the attached nursery, which startled her.

The infant had woken herself up with her coughing, and went silent for a bit. Then, as Sparrow knew she would, she started wailing at the top of her lungs. Sparrow winced, muttering an almost silent, "Shit," under her breath. She used this as chance to enter the room, and walked over the bed, she slowly slipped beneath the covers just as Garth began to stir.

"The baby's up," he mumbled.

Sparrow smiled to herself, pleased that he had not found her out. She climbed out of bed with faked difficulty and replied, "I'll go check on her."

"Wait." Garth sat up and pulled her back down onto the bed. He buried his face in the soft fabric that covered her back and sighed. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said softly.

Sparrow felt tears well in her eyes at his words. She didn't want him to feel bad about such a stupid, pointless argument while what she had done was much worse. She should be the one apologizing after what she had done. She despised herself.

"I'm the guilty one," he said softly. "I should stop blaming you for everything, especially since  _I'm_ the one who left. I shouldn't try to make you feel bad about something  _I_ did to  _you_. You know it's one of the things I regret most."

Sparrow stifled a sob. She held onto Garth's hands and leaned back into his embrace. She loved him more than anything. She should never have done something so stupid... so selfish... She searched for the words to say. "I forgive you," she said. "I love you."

_I'm a stupid, selfish whore._

Garth sighed once more, taking a deep breath. He stiffened. "You smell different," he said quietly. "Like smoke, and whiskey, and..." He stopped there, for he didn't believe it. Perhaps his mind was just playing tricks on him.

"Sorry," she said, trying to buy herself further time to think. "I... went downstairs for a drink. The cook was smoking again."

_Stupid... selfish... He knows._

"Oh." He let her go and fell backwards again into bed and pulled the covers over him once more. "Go check on her. She'll cry herself horse," he said, his voice hard. He used the voice that scared Sparrow more than anything, and whether he knew what she'd done or not, she felt as though she'd just been told he did, and the hurt she could see in his eyes was enough to make her hate herself even more.

* * *

Logan wandered into Reaver's private bedroom timidly, looking around. It hadn't changed much since he had last visited. He wasn't usually allowed in the there, although Reaver had once locked him in the cage that hung from the ceiling after he had spilled red wine on the white carpet. But, since Reaver had called him in, he supposed he wouldn't mind.

Reaver laid in bed, barely covered by the scattered sheets. His chest gleamed with sweat in the flickering torch light. He looked intimidating there, watching him with a crooked smile. He gestured for the boy to join him, and Logan walked to the side of the large bed, climbed up into it, and settled in next to his guardian.

Logan didn't much care for the private bedroom... It was grossly warm, as there were no lights used to light it, but, rather, torches. It was poorly lit, and very humid. The heat made him breathe heavier, and he didn't much care for the taste that hung in the thick air he was breathing.

"Hello, my boy," he said warmly. He quickly scanned the boy with his cold, green eyes, smiling oddly.

"I saw mother running down the hallway a while ago," Logan said, his voice hard and emotionless. "Did you have sex with her?"

Reaver chuckled at this, bringing a glass of scotch up to his lips. "Why, my dearest child? Does it bother you? Do you think it immoral and horrid to sleep with a married woman?" He said all this with a smile, half laughing the whole time. He took a sip of his drink and sat back in bed. He laughed even harder as Logan nodded.

"Oh, you poor, innocent, thing... You know," there was a sudden shift in his voice, "being the child of that... thing, I would think you're moral compass would at least point a little east. You know what that man did for a living? He broke people, that's what. And you know, you mother was one of those people. Know how? He violated her, everyday, for ten years. It's left that woman so loose it's almost strange that silly old woman didn't cave sooner!" Reaver laughed now, though nothing was all that funny.

"My mother is  _not_ a whore," Logan said quietly.

"Keep telling yourself that, my dear boy." He gave him a wink and a smile. "Now, come, cuddle up to uncle Reaver. I'm so lonely," he said with fake hurt, throwing himself back, hand over his forehead.

"Should I be naked like last time?" Logan asked innocently.

"You don't have to be..." Reaver couldn't help but smile. The boy had learned well.

Logan looked up at him through wide eyes, then down to his pajamas. He pulled his shirt up over his head, and leaned back so he could take off his pants. Then, he wriggled in under the sheets and up close to his guardian, closing his eyes tightly. Reaver chuckled and pulled the boy in close.

 


	5. It's Not Over 'Till --

**Act I Part V  
It's Not Over 'Till The Little Girl Screams**

* * *

It had been enough of a task to convince Garth to allow the party. He had wanted nothing more than a simple gathering of close friends; Reaver not included, of course. Sparrow had begged and pleaded until he finally caved, though he made her promise she wouldn't go overboard. She didn't, of course. But Reaver did.

The twilight veil had fallen; dinner would soon begin, but the princess was nowhere to be found, and the queen was beginning to worry. She spotted Reaver talking to the lord Fenrich of Oakfield's mistress, and quickly interrupted, "Excuse me," she said, "but Reaver, have you seen Rose?"

"Playing with Logan in the gardens, I believe," he replied, never taking his eyes off the mistress before him, which annoyed Sparrow a great deal.

She turned the other woman. "Say, miss, how many of the lord's children are yours, anyway? I've heard her ladyship is unable to bare children, being good friends with her, of course. How convenient she doesn't mind sharing her husband." Leaving the flustered woman behind, Sparrow grabbed Reaver's wrist and dragged him outside, ignoring his protests. "How in the world did you manage to invite all of the lords' mistresses individually, anyway?" Sparrow asked in a huff.

"I have my sources," Reaver replied coolly, now walking along beside her of his own free-will. He somehow managed to pull his hand up into the queen's grasp and held her hand, instead; tightly.

"What are you doing?" she asked, irritated, flashing him a poisonous look.

"Oh, come on," he purred, his arm snaking around her waist, "just for old times' sake?"

Sparrow sighed, pulling away, and marched on, leaving the marksman to pout to himself. "That was years ago, Reaver. Now, you go right, I'll go left." With that, she disappeared, calling out the childrens' names.

Reaver wandered through the hedge maze, trying to focus on the task ahead, but his vision swam before him for some reason. Perhaps he had already had too much to drink. And he did remember having had quite a bit already. But when he called Logan's name, his voice was quiet and broken. "What is this witchcraft?" he mumbled.

It had been years since his short-lived affair with his best and only friend, the queen, and he didn't really think about it much. For some reason, when he started to, he got a strange feeling that he didn't really like, and, so, he thought of something else. They had never talked about it, and it had never come up until seconds ago. It's not as though it had been all that great. Or had it? When he tried to remember, he got that sickly feeling and gave up. He didn't even remember why it had ended. The first night had been the last; she had never even said why. Or had she?

He wracked his brain, and when the feeling came, he ignored it with great difficulty.

_"Back for more, my little minx?" Reaver said. He was sitting in a large chair in his private library when one of his servants ushered a hooded Sparrow into the room. "I did have such a lovely time on our last little trip to-"_

_"I want out," she said quickly. "It never should have happened, Reaver. I love Garth, and he loves me and me alone. We have a new baby girl; a beautiful baby girl. We're a family, something you'd never be willing to be, and that's what I want. I don't want to ruin what I have just for you."_

_Reaver was silent for a second, and he set down his book, and took a swig of brandy. He thought for a second. "Just for me? Am I not a perfect masterpiece worth the world?" he asked jokingly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "I'm almost certain my love is just as good as any, if not better."_

_"Your love isn't worth what a pig could spit, Reaver. It's so overused and overpriced. You're nothing more than a common manwhore." The marksman laughed nervously, feeling some strange pain in his chest. "You're cruel, and horrid, and you don't care about other people. Not even all of the love in the world could change that."_

_"Do I not care for your bastard son out of nothing but the kindness of my heart, simply because you asked me to? Did I not take care of you when that 'lovely' husband of yours left you?" His voice grew louder and louder as he fought himself so as not to lose his temper. "There has never been anything in it for me, but I still do it all the same. I do it for you." Sparrow just shook her head and turned to leave. "Maybe your love for me can't change me, but my love for you can."_

_Sparrow look at him, tears filled her eyes. She approached him slowly, not saying a word, then leaned down toward the sitting man, and gently kissed his lips. Reaver held the woman's face in his hand, trying desperately to keep her there, but she pulled back and whispered softly, "Reaver, you don't love." And with that, she rose, and left._

The feeling was at its strongest now, and Reaver clutched his chest as he continued down the garden path, his vision blurred. When he reached up to rub his eyes, he was met by the most peculiar thing. "Am I… leaking?" he asked is bewilderment. "I am not weak. I do not cry. I am Reaver," he assured himself. "Now, where are those blasted children?"

* * *

"Logan, be careful!" the five-year old princess cried. "You almost hit me!"

"Oh, calm down, it's only a dull sword," the thirteen year-old replied casually, "It won't do much damage."

Sparrow had recently taken it upon herself to teach the young girl some swordplay, and, of course, Logan was fluent in the graceful dance from his instruction from his guardian. So, the two decided it a good idea to venture out and spar a little in the moonlight. The boy had a great advantage in both age and size, and he had no intention of taking it easy on the apple of his mother's eye.

His sword slashed through the cold night air, and the young princess could barely block it let alone launch a counter attack. She was strong for a five year-old, since the hero's blood was strong in her blood, but she was still much weaker than the boy while only carrying half of the powerful blood in his own body. He had been training hard to please Reaver and had been growing quickly, which Reaver also seemed to enjoy very much. He still greatly resembled his mother – more so than the princess.

They could hear the call of the queen from the other side of the garden, but they gave her no mind. Logan needed to finish this. He needed to win it.

His snow-white skin glistened in the moonlight as he continued his non-stop attack, his black hair dancing in the wind. The young Rose struggled to fight back desperately, and was forced back with every blow. Logan paused for a single second, giving her the opportunity she needed to strike, and with one quick, graceful movement, her strike broke through his attempted block, and the boy cried out. Logan didn't pause to try to stop the terrible pain in his lip, and pushed the celebrating princess back roughly.

"Logan, I'm sorry!" He did it again. "What are you-" And again. "Logan!"

The princess tumbled backward, reaching out for anything at all, as she began to fall in the gaping hole that was the future site of a well under construction. She managed to grab hold of the ledge, though her small, weak fingers were slipping quickly. "Logan, help me," she pleaded. "Brother, please…"

"Logan!" a broken voice called, and Logan spun around to see Reaver rushing toward him. "What are you doing, boy?" When the man saw the mess the boy's face was in, he grew angry. With a roar, he slapped the boy hard across the face.

Logan stood, head turned to the side he had been forced to, spit a mouthful of blood out on to the ground, and silently raised a hand to his face. He gingerly felt where he had been had hit, and then where his lip had been cut, now crying silently.

"There'll be a scar there, you stupid boy! What were you thinking, going out to play after dark? Or were you thinking at all?"

"She cut me, Reaver," Logan said, pointing toward the slipping princess. "Please forgive me, sir."

Reaver left the boy and walked over to the princess, a crooked smile spreading over his lips. "Why, princess, your mother is worried sick. She's out looking for you; can't you hear her?" He knelt down, enjoying the agony on the child's face as she fought desperately to keep hold on the stone ledge as it cut her delicate, tiny hands. "And know you've hurt my boy, and his beautiful face will never be the same. We can't have that, can we?"

"Uncle Reaver –  _sir,_  please," the girl gasped, "help me up."

"I wonder how many of your little bones would shatter were to fall the five stories beneath you…" Reaver mused, his eyes glazing over. "I wonder how painful it would be. I wonder if I could hear you screams all the way down.. I wonder if I would hear the crunch. I wonder… would it hurt your mother enough to break the cold rock that is her heart?"

"Please, it's not funny," the princess begged. "I'm begging you… Godfather, please..!"

Reaver watched, bemused. "Ah yes, we've had enough of the suffering, haven't we?" he said, standing up, his smile true, eyes kind. "Poor, sweet, Rose." His expression turned to sheer malice, _hatred_ , as brought a leg up and brought his foot down hard on one of her small hands.

The girl sobbed, and cried desperately as the other hand slowly slipped from the ledge and she fell back into the blackness of the hole, while Reaver stood over and watched, listening to her ear-piercing scream.

When the scream stopped, he turned to the boy, who had fallen to his knees, trembling, the crimson seeping through his pale, quivering hand and dripping all over his party clothes. Reaver knelt down next to him, and tilted his head upward to get a good look at the damage the princess had done to his boy. "Poor thing," he whispered, "Such a lovely face… Let uncle Reaver kiss it better."

The boy sat silently, looking up at his guardian and he leaned in and connected their lips gently, holding the shaking boy close to him. He knew better than to fight the man when he did this, though he knew it was wrong. Something inside of him told him to hate it, but another part told him to ignore that and kiss back, which he did. This brought Reaver to suck hard on the boy's lower lip, licking up the blood and drawing more, which made the boy wince, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. Reaver only pulled the boy closer, but pulled out of the kiss.

"Promise me you won't do such a foolish thing again," he demanded.

"I promise," Logan whispered his voice hoarse.

"Reaver! Logan!" Sparrow called, running toward then. "Where is Rose? Have you seen her?"

Logan, who was already in tears, began sobbing harder, while Reaver, the actor he was, brought some tears to his own eyes in a flash. "Sparrow," he whispered, rising to his feet.. "There's been a terrible accident..."


	6. In Dishonourable Ways

  
**Act I Part VI**   
**In Dishonourable Ways**   


* * *

Thousands had flocked to the castle in mourning, to lay the young princess to rest. All sorts of people – rich, poor, beautiful, less than, short, tall, fat and thin – stood in the crowded castle gardens as a large structure of sorts covered by a tarp was erected before them. It was a monument to their princess's short life. She was a good, kind girl, and the kingdom was going to miss her terribly.

Not only would she have made a wonderful, benevolent queen and thought that if anyone had to replace Sparrow, it should have been her. She was, after all, considered to be the only  _true_ heir to the throne, should her mother pass; Logan was an illegitimate child, son of an evil, oppressive homunculus who'd broken if not killed some of the kingdom's own. But, now, should the king and queen die, he was the only heir left – be he true or not. And yet, he could find no comfort in that, knowing how he had come about that position, and Reaver could tell.

Logan scanned the crowd. He was looking all over - whatever he could do so as not to have to watch the funeral itself. There was a sickening feeling in his stomach. He was worried – had he murdered her? He knew he hadn't meant to push her into the well. He had thought of killing her many times, but he would never actually do it. It was nothing more than a fantasy – a way of blowing off some steam. And sure, he hadn't actually sent her tumbling into the darkness; Reaver had. But, was he not guilty by association?

When he was younger, and Reaver had killed a male prostitute in Knothole Glade by accident, the authorities had come after them as soon as Ladybug Smiles, who managed the prostitutes in town had told the guards that Dick Senourmous didn't come home that night. The two went on the run for weeks, and hid in Reaver's mansion in Bloodstone, his goons guarding every entrance. The guards said they wanted Logan, too, because he had been there, forced to watch the two men, and saw it happen, and didn't tell. If anyone found out Reaver had killed Rose, would they come after Logan too?

He had never killed anyone, nor did he think he would ever have to. Did this count? Is that why he felt sick? Was this how it felt to kill? Or was he just worried about being caught, and being taken from Reaver..?

The boy thought that, should he ever have to kill another person, it would be in an honourable way. In combat, in a war. That he would have to fend off death, too, and he would not be fighting a five year old girl... one eight years his junior.

Rose's disfigured body had been retrieved from the well earlier that week and the queen would be travelling up North after the ceremony to see it buried near the old homestead where she had been born, among two other graves familiar to Sparrow's past. When Reaver had told Logan this, and the boy asked him why and what he meant, Reaver had sat him down and told him the story of his half-sisters.

When Sparrow had first gone to the small farming town to see the Abbot, she had met a handsome young farm hand.  _"'Dark skin and bright eyes' she said,"_ Reaver had told him. _"The kind of eyes that 'lifted your spirits' and a 'contagious' smile..."_ He had looked sad, as Logan recalled, which made him sad as well.  _"And they spent time together whenever she came to town until one day, she didn't come back. For almost an entire year. She had been wounded, badly, and, though she didn't know it, her farm hand was waiting for her return. When she did return, though, they went at it like rabbits," Reaver nearly laughed, "and I don't dare give you the details she gave me. It was enough for her to remember to this day - years after._

" _The two had been poor at the time, and soon Sparrow was pregnant, and the two were overjoyed, though perhaps a little nervous about having an extra mouth to feed. Nine months later, she gave birth, only they did not receive the son they had hoped for, but rather two baby girls. One, Scarlet, took after her mother - skin like the moon with fair hair - while the other took after her father - dark skin and brilliant eyes. They named the second one after her father's late mother; Page._

" _A couple months after, Sparrow left for the arena and was invited to join lord Lucien's guard. She soon travelled to the Spire, where she spent ten long years being broken by that bastard; the Commandant. Though, I can't say I'm not the slightest bit pleased. That's how I have you here, with me, now. But, while she was gone, her lover died of disease, and it wasn't until someone complained about the smell that someone discovered the infants, though one was long gone."_

Logan looked to his mother, who cried quietly beside her stone-face husband, and he felt no guilt, while the pain in his chest was suddenly gone and in its place was a new, warm feeling. He didn't like this new feeling.

* * *

Sparrow looked nervously at her bowl of soup, gently lifting her spoon to her lips. She sipped silently, the set the utensil back on the edge of bowl before pushing back her chair. Garth sighed as she stood up and left. That was all she had eaten, and he knew that it be all she would eat.

The queen had grown thin and pale; her cheeks hollow and her face gaunt as ever. One could now truly say Logan was the spitting image of the woman. She refused to eat anything at all most days, and hardly slept a wink. But, this was a normal mourning period for her. Sparrow had gone through the same thing before – with Rose, her old family and when Lord Lucien had murdered her faithful companion in cold blood. And when she had broken it off with Reaver.

Garth waited a moment before going after her. He rushed down the hall and grabbed her wrist, spinning her around so that she could the tears in his eyes, and he could see her own. She was crying softly. "We'll never be able to have another child, will we?" She looked at him with big eyes, and he felt a lump grow in is his throat.

"Not if we don't try," he said, trying to be hopeful, though he knew chances would remain slim. They had, afterall, been trying all the years after they'd had Rose, too. It wasn't just now. And that truly worried him.

Anger grew in her eyes, but her rage was overcome by the grief that washed over her in sobs. "I'm tired of trying," she hollered. "We tried. We very nearly succeeded. But we will never have a son, Garth. Nothing will change the fact that we're both growing older. Things will only ever get harder!"

The mage pulled her into his arms to attempt to calm her. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and whispered softly, "That's why we have to try harder, and why we have to love each other more than ever. I will never give up on you."


	7. Call & Answer

  
**Act I Part VII**   
**Call & Answer**   


* * *

It had been months since the princess' passing, and the grief had been taking its toll on the poor queen quite wildly. Her face had grown dark and her cheeks hallow; she lacked in sleep and weight and strength. There was not a soul who wasn't worried for her poor health. Whenever her body shook or she fell – which happened far too often – she simply waved it off and said she was fine.

She was not fine.

Garth was ill with worry. He spent his time trying to get her to eat something – anything! He kept her in bed, held her and soothed her, trying to help her sleep. His efforts were futile, and the queen's condition did nothing but worsen. Sparrow could help but think it might be easier if she were with Reaver, and not Garth. That realization only made her feel sicker.

By the five month mark, she could not leave her bed, for she was too weak. It was around that time she had two visitors who she had not had before, who she would have expected to see sooner.

Reaver decided to keep his distance at first news of her sickness; he felt a gut-wrenching guilt that brought tears to his eyes at the thought. Logan was distraught. It was not until Logan found Reaver in a mess of tears that he begged him to go see her, and Reaver could not deny this request. He, too, wished more than anything to see her, though he would never admit to such a thing.

They never really talked about how they were feeling. Not about what they did to Rose, no; they felt nothing about that, though Logan felt anxious to be found out. They never mentioned Sparrow's sickness, though they both wondered if it was them who had brought this upon her – the woman they wanted to feel love from, more than anything else in the world.

When they first arrived, they said nothing to her, and she said nothing to them. She just watched them from her limp position on the bed. Some help had aided them in hauling a piano into her room so that they may play for her, and they did. It was something Reaver had learned throughout his many days, and taught the boy.

The music they made together was beautiful, Sparrow thought. It made her smile when they played a beautiful duet and Reaver sang a couple words. Though he couldn't exactly sing, it seemed to fit. She asked them to help her sit up so that she may watch them.

So they did.

What she could see was almost strange – as though she watched another life from a distance. It was like she didn't exist to them when they played. It was them and the piano, and they seemed to fit so strangely, like a perfect puzzle. The way they were so perfectly synchronized – how they moved together and never missed a beat – and how they smiled and laughed as though the world was a perfect bubble that held only Logan, Reaver and the piano.

Sparrow cried.

Logan stopped playing in the middle of a call and answer, and left his guardian to sound rather silly playing by himself. He walked over to his mother's bed and saw she could not wipe away the tears herself. So he helped her, and she smiled. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I love you, mother," he whispered, and he returned to the piano.

They played until she fell asleep.

* * *

"You need to eat," Garth insisted. When he insisted something, he used a deep, chest voice that made Sparrow shiver and feel a little afraid. She wished she could. "If you don't get better..." He closed his eyes and sighed, trying not to think about that if. "How do you ever expect to conceive a heir in your current state? Imagine what would happen if we left Albion without one; the bastard would be running things!"

Sparrow turned over in bed and nearly growled at him. "Don't call him that," she hissed. Her eyes tightened at the pain of moving, and thought of Logan and how sweetly his hair smelled and how kindly he smiled, despite everything.

"Why not, if that's what he is?"

"He's a good boy," she said rather quietly yet firmly, not looking at him.

Garth laughed. "Of course, because Reaver could only raise the best of children, right?"

"Reaver is a good man."

He did not reply. Instead, he walked around the bed and held out a spoon of mildly warm broth. "If you will not eat for me, eat for him."

Sparrow thought for a second about her son. She had never done much for him – if anything at all. She had kept him, she supposed, though that was just about it. Now, he belonged to Reaver, she could see. It was funny; she had never thought she would regret giving him up the way she did, of all things. Yet, after seeing him with Reaver, she felt as though she had missed out on something great. Something she could not get back. She wanted to do something for Logan, for once.

Very hesitantly, she opened her mouth. Garth sighed with relief and smiled so wide Sparrow thought his mouth might knock his ears off the side of his head. He looked as though he may cry as she accepted the spoon in her mouth and swallowed slowly. And as she did this several more times.

It was a strange feeling Garth felt. His wife would not eat for him, but she would eat for her bastard child conceived out of rape. He wasn't sure whether he should simply be happy she was eating again, or whether he should feel insulted by such a gesture. Women were strange creatures; especially when it came to their children.

* * *

When Sparrow had regained her strength enough to leave her bed, she thought she might hire some personal help to care for her so that Garth may return to his duties while she recovered her state of mind. It was a strange request; the castle had not had a butler since their last one quit when they first acquired the place.

They sent out word, and, soon, she was conducting interviews.

Many had come - few seemed qualified. She was looking for someone... special, you could say. Someone who stood out. Someone who could be an agreeable companion. And after many candidates, she thought she found him.

He was beautiful to behold, she thought, in a strange way. With a comforting voice of silk, and fine brown hair and wise eyes. It was funny how he only smiled when she smiled, almost as though he were asking for her permission first. She liked that.

What was truly funny was that he could not help but smile when she smiled. He was not one to smile, but, for some reason, she made him smile. She was beautiful sculpture; a goddess to be worshipped, in his eyes. She made him feel strange. He did not like that.

"Name?" Sparrow asked. She started it like any other.

"Jasper Cuthbert," he said.

"Do you have much experience being a butler, Mr. Cuthbert?"

"Yes, actually. And of a rather horrible sort, I might add," he said, shuddering. "I've spent the last ten years working for lord Allaby. Until his mind went, too. He became confused with time. Thought me a 'pretty lady'. Couldn't keep his bloody hands to himself, crazy bastard... Pardon my language, your majesty."

She smiled. He smiled.

The rest of the interview consisted of Jasper's anecdotes, which Sparrow could not get enough of. She thought it particularly amusing that, should she ask lord Allaby for a reference, she should refer to Jasper as 'Susan', or the poor old man would have no idea who it was she spoke of.

He continued to make her smile, which continued to make him do the same in turn.

That day she hired him. And that night, she went to bed and laid with her husband for the first time in three months.

* * *

Jasper pulled the blankets off the sleeping queen in a sweeping motion. "Rise and shine. Up-and-at-em'!" He strode over to the window and yanked open the curtains, blinding Sparrow with the afternoon sun. "Wakey-wakey!"

Sparrow groaned. "Ugh, Jasper..." She rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head, shivering from the cold of the air now embracing her.

"I trust her majesty had a good night," he said merrily, ignoring her whining. "A loud one, at least."

"Twas a miracle, Jasper; three times!" she nearly sang out, sitting up and hugging the pillow. She fell back, exhausted, and laughed.

Jasper paused. "That's... not exactly what I meant, but that  _is_ nice - considering your state before my arrival. But, no, that's not what I meant," he said, smiling to himself as he turned to the table where he had placed the tray containing the queen's breakfast.

Sparrow, too, smiled, and turned over. She climbed out of bed and grabbed her blankets and dragged them back with her. "Then what did you mean?"

He wondered whether he should ask. He was not sure how appropriate it was to do so. "You sounded... troubled. In your sleep. Bad dream?"

She frowned and sunk back into bed as he carried over her meal. He looked down at her and she nodded. Jasper half-smiled as a comfort and set the tray in her lap. His eyes made her sad, and vice versa.

The queen took to nibbling at her toast while the butler stood over her, watching intently. His eyes searched her for some sign she was okay. "Does her majesty wish to talk about it, perhaps?" he asked. She nodded.

"I dreamed I was alone," she said. "I was in pain. I was sinking into the ground, and I couldn't escape. When I cried for help, nothing came out. My screams were silent and yet, Logan came running to me. He tried to help me up, but I kept sinking, and so did he. And as he was neck-deep, Reaver appeared, and pulled him out. But he didn't help me... He let me sink... And I suffocated.

"Truly horrifying," Jasper said. "Might I suggest it means something?"

"Shoot," Sparrow said, sipping her juice.

"I'm certainly no expert, but, maybe it's that you feel as though you are suffocating - figuratively, of course. Maybe your subconscious is screaming for help because it feels caged and stuck somewhere it doesn't want to be. As for master Logan and Reaver, I'm not sure. Maybe you know your son loves you, and you regret how he's spent his life, and you feel as thought you're him dragging down when you know he's best left to Reaver?"

Sparrow starred at him for a moment, sucking her bottom lip, brow furrowed. She thought about this for a moment and waved it aside. "Jasper, how you amuse me."

She smiled. He smiled.


	8. Swiftly, If You Will

  
**Act I Part VIII**   
**Swiftly, If You Will**   


* * *

Since Sparrow's ascent to the throne, it seemed the armies were rendered moot. They rarely dealt with real conflict on a regular basis; crime rates were down, bandit raids and terrorism were unheard of. Most of the soldiers were stationed around towns and along roads. They dealt with minor crimes and the occasional country murder or disappearance and the wild animals that harassed travelling traders.

Some called it a beautiful thing. The soldiers themselves called it just plain embarrassing. An example of such a soldier would be a young lad who bore the title of Officer.

Swift was his name. Jack Connolly Swift, a young lad and 2nd lieutenant in his Majesty's army. He had just been promoted, and wasn't accustomed to dealing with other people's problems. When others reported back to him, he wasn't sure if maybe he should just file the paperwork and have it never seen again, or talk to a superior about it. If he was ever faced with this problem, he would ask his good friend of the same rank, a few years his senior and more accustomed to the system.

2nd Lieutenant Walter Beck was an ambitious fellow, known for his fine swordsmanship. "He's going places," his superiors would say. Everyone knew it. He was loud, but very courageous and not afraid of a little scrap here and there. He could handle it.

Earlier that week, Swift had received some strange news of sightings of bandits along the coast. No large groups were spotted, but there were said to be a few small packs. As the week went on, sightings grew, no matter how many they cut down. That morning, Swift had orders to have some men investigate.

Walter had been waiting to hear back from his friend for a while, now. He had grown restless and jumpy; there was an eerie feeling in the air. Everyone knew something was up, and Walter felt it more than anyone. He felt it in his bones. This is why he nearly jumped out of his seat when Swift knocked on his office door late that afternoon.

"Jack, my good man! Come in, come in!" Walter said anxiously, ushering him in. He got up to close the door and pulled up a chair for him. He sat back down and watched him carefully. There was a moment of silence before he simply couldn't bare it any longer. "What's the news?"

Swift looked down and fiddled with his black gloves for a second. "Alarming, I'm afraid," he said finally, furrowing his brow. "My men and I discovered where the bandits have been coming from."

"And?"

"Well, the groups we've been cutting down were the outer patrols," he said. He made a strange face as he explained this; he looked altogether horrified, though the corner of his mouth were turned up in an empty smirk, as though he were mad. "If you walk North-West, they come in much larger groups. The innermost circle we came across consisted of nearly forty men. We were barely able to escape them..."

Walter fell backwards into his seat in shock. "Avo's arse, man! That must mean-"

"I climbed an old watch tower nearby, and I saw it; hundreds – thousands – of them! The largest clan I've ever seen! They've all been gathering slowly, building numbers, collecting scraps of old camps. Walter; it's going to get a hell of a lot more bloody before they're gone."

It was Swift's face that worried him most of all.

* * *

"Who says I've got to get dressed?"

"Well, you're wanted in Dreadmor Fort this afternoon to speak with General Mourningwood, your majesty. I think it'd be in your best interest to attend while fully  _clothed_."

"Why? I can surely do a better job getting what is needed in my underclothes."

"Yes, I'm sure that is true. But you at least have to get out of bed _._ "

Sparrow peaked out from under her sheets, revealing nothing more than an eye. Jasper was standing over her, watching her, a bemused smirk pulling at his lips. "But I'm  _tired_ ," she groaned, though this only made his smirk seem more smug.

"You can sleep on the journey, surely," he said. "We'll pack your favourite pillows... and a nice blanket. You can wear your comfy dress..."

The queen flopped backwards and wriggled around. "But we won't get back until late... I'll fall asleep, then you'll wake me up and I won't get back to sleep for the night," she whined.

Jasper sighed. "Oh, for Avo's sake, I'll carry you inside when we get back to castle if I have to! Don't be such a –" Sparrow through back her blankets and starred at him with big eyes, head cocked to one side. "– drama queen."

She smiled. He smiled.

"Will you tell me some more of your stories on the ride back? I do like your stories," she said. "They're so uneventful and dull, they always put me right to sleep!"

* * *

Major Francis Mourningwood was a tall, rather intimidating fellow who didn't actually do all that much. He was in charge of the fort, but evaded most duties by sending someone out to do them for him. For the most part, he did paperwork and – when he wasn't doing that – he wrote plays. All of the soldiers were terrified of him, and refused to report back to him if the report wasn't exactly pleasing. He thought this was actually quite funny, considering he'd literally  _never_ hurt a fly.

He was a big, burly man who'd gotten by on life by riding coattails and kissing ass. His father had been general before him, so he never had to do much to begin with. He faked patrol duty and even faked injuries, constantly earning himself medals for his 'acts of valour', which were really just throwing himself down a flight of stairs now and then. The only part of his duties he ever actually bothered with was, in fact, paperwork. He loved the paperwork. If his father hadn't forced him into the army, he probably would have chosen something with more paperwork.

When he had first gotten the report on the ever-growing bandit clan, he had excused himself. And, he walked into his closet. Then, he wept like a little girl in complete terror. After the initial shock, he had sent word to the queen that she should come immediately to speak with him. He could honestly say he had absolutely no idea where to go from there, but, of course, he would never say such a thing.

Francis had met with the queen several times to discuss business, so, on any normal day, he wouldn't be nervous. But things usually went rather smoothly, so the idea of delivering bad news to the ex-hero queen filled him with great worry. Nobody could know how she would react nowadays, considering nobody was all that close to her anymore. Apart from her butler, so he heard.

Everyone knew of her recent struggles and the recent stress and the pressure for her and the king to conceive a new heir. Still, there was no news of anything, and everyone was worried. But none worried more than the queen herself, though she didn't show it as much anymore. She had grown much more lax, and ran around like she didn't care. News was, she even had plans to give up completely and declare Logan her successor, just in case. People said she slept fourteen hours a day, and then spent the rest of her day in the garden, with her butler, singing a quiet tune; something about reeds.

The trumpets sounded to announce queen Sparrow's arrival, and the major very nearly fell out of his great, big, balverine-head chair. He scrambled to clear his desk of the candy wrappers and scraped the latest pages of his play into his top drawer. Taking a deep breath, he flattened his uniform and hair then sat back, folding his arms over his chest, trying to look as tough as he could.

There was a knock at the door, and a tall, gangly man stepped in and looked around. He slowly approached the desk and looked Mourningwood in the eyes, his face stone-cold and almost frightening. "Now, the queen is very... tired today, and a feeling a little cranky. I suggest you don't test her; she will pound you into a pulp." The Major gulped.

Queen Sparrow walked in and looked around, waving Jasper off the poor, trembling man, dusted off the chair in front of the desk and sat down. She didn't sit down as was expected... She sunk deeply into the chair showing a complete lack of grace as she pulled up the single skirt of her less-than regal dress to her knees and sat Indian style, and looked at him, waiting for him to talk as though this was all very normal behaviour for a royal figure.

Francis cleared his throat and leaned in over his desk. Sparrow watched like a curious child. After a moment, she yawned and tossed her head back.

Jasper motioned for him to get on with it, and he couldn't say he was impressed by Sparrow's behaviour, even after she had promised to behave. He would expect her not to listen to the king, but she always listened to him. One such as Jasper might say she was indeed being a 'royal pain'.

It wasn't like her to be so childish. He had honestly no idea where it had all come from. She was known to be kind, modest... well-behaved... Garth had told him this had come out of absolutely nowhere shortly after Jasper had come under her employment. He wondered if it was because he did most mundane tasks for her, and she was growing accustomed to it. He should remember not to bend to her every will so often... but it wasn't so easy for him to ignore the woman.

"So, I called you here," the major gulped back some  _major_ anxiety, "to discuss some very important matters in the field of the kingdom's safety that has recently been brought to my attention..."

Sparrow yawned. "Well, feel free to bring it to my mine any time, now, because you've very nearly lost it completely at this point." She turned to smiled smugly at the butler who stood near the door. She knew should she be any person other than the monarch he would have slapped the arrogance right out of her then and there in front of the major. And she knew that he knew that's why she said what she did.

Mourningwood coughed politely and looked down at the papers he had on his desk. "Well, you see, your majesty, if you'll allow me the pleasure of your precious time, the problem is that my boys – er, men, have discovered something just a tad alarming and I thought you ought to know."

The queen scoffed and leaned forward in her seat, smacking her lips, eyes half-closed and purred arrogantly, "What the hell could be worthy of my precious time? Balverines? A whole pack? Been there, done that! A congregation of hobbes, maybe? Easily handled. Or is there a rapist on the loose, after the precious little porcelain dolls that you call an army? I'm sure they're bloody precious things. You know, back when I was living on the streets as just a little thing – poop"

" _Theresacampofbanditsupnorthandtheresagoodcouplethousandmen_ ," he blurted out in one breath, almost completely without pause or breaks between words. When asked if he could kindly repeat what he had just said proper English, he took a second to calm his nerves. "There's a camp of bandits up North and there's a good couple thousand men."

Jasper really wished he could have taken the matter seriously, but the sheer expression of horror on Sparrow's face made every worry melt away with a wave of uncontrollable laughter. She turned to look at him once more, and he knew he was going to get it when she got him in private.

* * *

"How dare you laugh at me like that, Jasper? You made me look like a complete fool!"

Sparrow was stomping off toward the carriage waiting for them outside of fort Dreadmor. She was crying, though her butler could not see and her voice did not betray her the way it usually did. Somehow, she managed to remain strong whenever she spoke nowadays. Her voice was always firm, even when she could hardly manage the next breath. Her chest ached and her muscles were weak, but she could only show strength.

Her eyes never could, though.

He followed closely behind. How could he have expected a little laughter would upset her so much? Usually he could get away with more than that. She usually loved having him pick on her, teasing her about her every little thing. It was most peculiar, he thought. No, it couldn't have been just the laughter that made her snap; that was impossible.

"Please, my queen, forgive me!" he called after her.

She spun around suddenly and smacked him violently across his face. The sound of her hand colliding with his cheek was so loud she swore that even Theresa could have heard it from her precious Spire. Of course, she was not proud of it, but she would not stand by what she had just done. She refused to be made a fool of.

"I ought to cut your tongue from your mouth," she screeched horridly. She knew she sounded like a child having a fit, but she didn't care. "You bastard! Why would do such a horrible thing?" Now she was sobbing rather violently. She gasped hopelessly for air as she struggled to stay standing. Her legs trembled, her knees buckled and she fell into her butler's arms as he dove in to catch her.

"Because you were being a royal –"

"Pain?"

"– bitch," he said coolly.

Sparrow opened her eyes and looked at Jasper, her sobs now suppressed, though tears still lingered in her eyes and on her cheeks. "Do you mean that, Jasper?" she asked softly, leaning her head into his shoulder as he struggled to carry her up into the carriage.

"No, my dear. Never," he replied even softer than she had asked the question, for she was already fast asleep in his lap.


	9. The Parting Of Ways

  
**Act I Part IX**   
**The Parting Of Ways**   


* * *

Word spread quickly about the camp from soldiers writing home to their families, and the entire kingdom was in chaos within days. Sparrow was constantly interrogated – asked about what she planned to do and when – though she honestly had no idea. She supposed they could rush into battle before it was too late, but it seemed like the waste of a perfectly good army, and she was the only one capable of leading them into such a battle; it was sure to be a very bloody battle indeed.

Jasper knew how the queen was torn and he too felt unsure of the future. The queen frequented the old homestead to visit her daughter's grave and, though Garth only bothered to accompany her on occasion, Jasper always rode along with her. Upon the last visit, he went inside to make a small lunch as usual to leave her to her grief and came back to find her talking to herself. She was asking – begging – for guidance in tears. He had not been sure what to do. He'd stood and watched for a minute, hoping she did not see him, but the knot in his stomach forced him forward to comfort her, for which she was grateful.

She was up late most nights, now. After Garth had fallen asleep, she would get up and wander the gardens in her bedclothes, a long blanket wrapped around her. Some would say she looked somewhat like a ghost. And it wasn't the same grief that had taken over her before, though Garth liked to assume it was. No, Jasper knew that she was only scared. Like a child who'd had a bad dream and couldn't get back to sleep.

This was partially true, he knew. Her dreams were plagued with visions of death and loss now. She was terrified; if she ended up doing the wrong thing, or if she waited too long while trying to figure out the right thing to do, there were far too many lives at stake here, and she didn't make one of these choices often. Perhaps once or twice, and she'd never had the luxury of mulling the choices over.

Garth had some new weaponry commissioned. The fort had been fit with mortars all along the walls to make the soldiers feel a bit better about the situation, if anything. He suggested taking these into battle. The battle would be well over before it even began, he said, and Sparrow liked the idea, though she found it a bit dishonourable of a tactic - not that she could say much about honour these days.

Yes, the queen was still being a bit of a spoiled brat. Or, so Jasper thought. She was acting out, rebelling against him. It wasn't that she wanted to seem so spoiled. No, she just wanted a little more attention. And not just from the butler, though she loved having him lose it. Garth had become so involved in the kingdom's matters that he had pretty well completely taken over the rule, not that Sparrow really cared. But he was always so busy with  _her_ job that he hardly payed her any mind most days unless she striped naked, and even then he somehow managed to ignore her on occasion. But Jasper found it amusing, at least.

Once or twice of late did she visit Reaver's mansion. She didn't actually see much of him, though, but she was more interested in Logan, it seemed. Jasper accompanied her wherever she went, so he knew her best, and what he knew was that the time she spent with her son was the time she seemed the happiest, and Logan seemed fairly pleased by her visits as well. And so did Reaver.

She told him all kinds of wild stories, and sat with him in the drawing room by the fire with him in her lap, sipping wine and gently caressing his head until he had fallen asleep. Reaver and Jasper would sit in the library and speak with one another. They liked each other more than they liked the king, this was certain. Not that Jasper didn't find him to be completely awful in every possible way, they just found each other to be more agreeable. Perhaps it was because - despite them both loving to be complete asses to most people - they constantly sought after what made her majesty most happy in the long run.

They spent hours drinking whiskey and complaining about how the king neglected her when they were in each others company. Sparrow found the whole thing very cute, if that was the word for it. She would listen, sometimes, to their long rants about how they knew best and how Garth was an idiot. On one occasion, the two got completely drunk and nearly woke poor Logan up with their drunken promises to her of how they'd make her happy and how the three should all just get married. That ended with Reaver kissing Jasper rather passionately. He denies it ever happening.

Sparrow gazed out the window and sighed softly, shaking her head. She turned to her butler who sat reading in his chair, ignoring her constant whining. It was something that pained him so, and took great practice, but he had finally mastered it. When she sighed a second time and he still didn't look up, she sighed a third time, far more heavily, and flopped down on the loveseat next to the window.

Without so much as looking up, Jasper asked rather sharply, "What?"

"Jasper..." She sighed again. "Jasper, I'm bored."

The butler set his book down, took a sip of his orange juice and just gave her a strange look. "You know, being queen and all, your majesty, you could be doing plenty of things right now; you could read a book, paint something, garden, eat a big meal even though you aren't hungry. You could... take a stroll through town and buy all sorts of things you don't need. You could go kill something, or you could, you know, attend to your duties as queen for the first time in weeks. You could maybe even try to decided on what to do about those bloody bandits that are threatening the lives of everyone in the kingdom."

"Jasper..." She stretched out on the couch. "Jasper, I want you shut your mouth and make me a sandwich."

Jasper sighed. "Go make yourself one; I'm too tired to deal with you today."

Sparrow gasped and shot him a dirty look that he didn't notice. "I will fire you if you don't, Jasper."

"Yes, yes, I know the drill. And I know you would never do such a thing because you would miss me to damn much." He looked up and smiled at her smugly, and she lost it. He watched as she slowly tore apart a pillow and scattered the hundreds of feathers all over the floor of the drawing room. "And you know I'm not cleaning that up."

The queen pursed her lips and fell back on the couch, hurt and annoyed. She turned on to her side away from the butler as tears filled her eyes. Her cries were silent and Jasper didn't even notice she was crying until she spoke. "I ought to start a war. We'll take out those stupid bandits and I'll lead the soldiers into battle, if that's what you want. Maybe I should just let myself get killed and then it would be your fault, you know, because you were mean."

"You're being a spoiled brat," Jasper said, though he felt bad for making her cry. "You sound like a small, spoiled child. And it wouldn't be my fault, because I never said you should go to war. I say it seems like a dangerous move, if anything."

"What would you do if I went to war, Jasper?"

"I wouldn't stop you, if that's what you're wondering."

Sparrow turned on to her back and starred at the ceiling. "Wouldn't you miss me?"

"Probably not; you're quite the pain, you know." After a moment of silence he continued, "You do realize I'm just joking, right?"

"Jasper..." She sighed and turned to look at him. "Jasper, am I going to have to go to war?"

* * *

Sparrow stood silently looking down at the earth bellow her. Jasper stood next to her, watching the queen intently as though he expected her to breakdown at any moment. Reaver on her other side, doing the same thing. Logan stood off to the side wrapped in his guardian's cloak watching Reaver, studying his face and smiling to himself. When the man noticed this, he looked at the boy and he, too smiled.

They were here to see her off.

Garth was inside sipping tea or something. He didn't like to be around Sparrow when she went to visit her late husband; it made him sad to see such pain brought to her lovely face. Funny, as everyone else felt the same yet were willing to stick by her side should she need to cry, making them wonder why he had even come if he wouldn't comfort her or spend that little extra time with her before she left with the troop of soldiers marching North.

"Are you sure you should be doing this, your majesty?" Jasper asked quietly, looking at the ground to try and hide the sorrow in his face. "You had really ought to stay here and let the soldiers handle it..." He looked back up at her, but she didn't look at him. Instead, she closed her eyes and continued facing the ground, moving her moist lips silently as though she were speaking to her husband's grave. "Sparrow, please-" This he said in unison with Reaver. The two looked at each other and shook their heads, one just as concerned as the other.

Logan didn't like Jasper. Reaver had taken a shine to him, for some reason or another, and Reaver didn't take a shine to too many people. This he knew. And he did not like it when he came to visit, but he supposed it was worth it to see his mother, and he knew that was who the two men would rather be spending their time with, which made him feel special enough to forgive Jasper for intruding his life so suddenly and so boldly.

"Shouldn't you be worrying about producing an heir?" Jasper ventured, regretting it almost immediately as she shot him a dirty look. He bowed his head and bit his lip. This made Logan smile.

"Logan is a fine enough heir, don't you think?"

The young bastard perked right up upon hearing this. He looked at his mother who smiled at him, and he felt a strange sort of warmth growing inside of him. Even when he turned to look at the ground, the feeling was still there. It made him itch and feel uncomfortable, yet happy at the same time. Sparrow had never said something like that before... that he could one day be king of Albion...

"I agree wholeheartedly, your majesty," Reaver said, bowing low before her. This made Sparrow both smile and want to smack him and tell him not to be such a kiss-ass, but she decided not to.

Jasper was staring at her, expressionlessly. It wasn't that he was horrified, or thought that it was a terrible idea. In fact, he was very in favour of the queen's new affection for her son. It just felt strange to him - when she had said that. Almost as though she'd said it was  _he_ who would one day be king. His heart had very nearly stopped. Perhaps he was just not used to seeing her behave herself  _and_ being so kind. Yes... that was it.

Sparrow's smile was kind and warm and the men around her stood and soaked it in slowly. It was as though the old Sparrow was coming back... as a smile. The Sparrow from before she was a spoiled, annoying, needy brat, Jasper thought. The butler still couldn't hate the new Sparrow, though, for some reason or another. That didn't mean he didn't prefer the old one - the Sparrow he had first met. And Reaver certainly enjoyed it too. Sure, the new Sparrow was more like him - but he didn't like that.

Logan stumbled forward and looked up at her. He very slowly and very awkwardly wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. Sparrow did the same, and Logan very nearly started to cry. Jasper thought he might do so as well.

The boy wasn't so much of a boy anymore. He was growing up. And he had grown quite tall already, for thirteen. Nearly fourteen, now, he was nearly as tall as his mother, who was fairly tall herself. His body was gangly and awkward still, but his shoulders were fine and broad already - and he had plenty of muscle on him. Reaver seemed please by that, at least, even if he still teased him for his height; he might never reach his height.

"Thank-you, mother," Logan said softly. "I won't let you down."

"I know, Logan. I know."

Garth, who was watching from the window, scowled and sipped his tea quietly. He still didn't like the boy all that much. But he liked his wife going off on this crusade even less. She was going to get herself killed, he thought, for sure. He assured himself she was an experienced hero - strong and quick and strategic. That didn't mean she was allowed to go around putting the lives of young men at risk, too. Surely she would draw the line at her own.

A small troupe of soldiers was drawing near the house, and Sparrow turned her head to look at them. Her face sank and her stomach flopped. She pulled away from the hug and kissed her son on his cheek fairly fiercely and turned to Reaver. He in turn stepped forward and gazed at his feet, trying to tell himself she would be just fine while she was away, but he feared the worse.

No, he wasn't usually one to worry, but he certainly cared for the woman and didn't really wished to see her dead, even if that meant she could no longer belong to Garth - no matter how sweet that would taste. Yes, he would think of her every day and he would worry anyway. When he met her calm eyes with his own cold, green ones, he suddenly felt a thousand times better. Logan had the same eyes - warm, brown, beautiful and filled with the same brilliant spirit. The two were very alike, so he had faith in them both; he knew them both so differently, yet the same.

Tears came to her eyes swiftly, but she held their gaze. "Are you going to hug me, you silly bastard?" she asked quietly, her voice faltering. Reaver managed to hold his stony expression but decided it best not try to speak for fear of his voice giving him away. He instead nodded and stepped forward to meet her as she lurched forward and began crying into his shoulder softly as he held the body he knew was strong yet felt so weak at the time.

Jasper watched quietly, biting the inside of his cheek until it bled. He, too, refused to cry. Seeing the heir long-past caving in, he placed a hand gentle on the boy's shoulder and squeezed it gently. Logan looked at him, and the man smiled down at him. Logan reluctantly smiled back, and relaxed into the touch slowly, almost enjoying the warmth of the man's gentle fingertips stroke his shoulder gently. It felt... homely.

Sparrow soon felt detached from her body - like she was floating in the warmth that was Reaver. She wished so desperately never to leave his arms ever again until he whispered softly, "I love you."

"I know," she whispered back. She opened her eyes slowly, and noticed Garth walking towards them. She managed to pull herself away and rushed to meet him.

"You don't have to go, Sparrow," he said firmly, wrapping his strong arms around her slowly.

She closed her eyes and embraced him tightly. "No; I need to." She kissed her husband sweetly on the lips and looked at him fondly. He pursed his lips and looked away. "I will return swiftly and safely. This is just something that I need to do." When he still said nothing, she touched his face and whispered, "I love you."

"I know," he said, stepping away and quickly disappearing into the house.

And then there remained only one.

The butler stood, watching her as she turned her gaze to the ground clenched her fist, exhaling. Still not looking at him, she called out, "Ser Cuthbert, would you please escort me to the carriage?" This made him smile. When he got to her side and offered his arm to her, she looked at him and smiled too.

They walked the thirty yards or so very slowly. It felt like nearly an eternity. Half-way Sparrow rested her head on her servant's sturdy shoulder, and he in turn rested his own head on top of hers.

"Now, I suppose you'll be taking a vacation, then," she said casually.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to serve anyone else," he replied.

"And you'll stay here, I take it?" She thought about this for a second and continued, "No, no, I insist."

"And you'll come see me first, I take it?" He paused as she had before continuing, "No, no, I insist."

She laughed and nodded. "As long as you're willing to wait for me," she said softly.

Jasper looked at her as though she had offended him. "Well madam, I thought it was clear that I would always be willing to wait for you. However long you needed to be waited upon."

Having reached their destination, he took her cold hand and bowed down to kiss it softly, winking up at her. The waiting troupe of soldiers looked at him, and he looked back. "Take good care of her, boys," he called to them all, waving casually. She laughed as he stalked away in a very exaggerated fashion.

The queen turned to Walter Beck, who opened the door for her and helped her up and followed behind. He sat down next to her. Across from them was Swift and Mourningwood. She looked them all over once and smiled brightly at them. "Men, we are what a good man would call 'fucked', and as my late husband would say, 'balls to it all'."

"'Balls to it all'," Walter repeated, smiling. "Balls indeed."

* * *

Reaver and Logan sat in the drawing room, alone, by the dying fire. They had arrived back late, and it was nearly Midnight, but Logan wouldn't even begin to think about sleeping. The older man was thinking to himself about Sparrow's response. The boy was studying his guardian quietly, sinking into his armchair and sipping at his watered down brandy.

The hero of skill had changed lately. His hair was unkempt, his clothes wrinkled and there was a distinct stumble growing along his strong jaw. He had also noticed he didn't sleep as much, either. Instead, he would come in and sit on the chair in Logan's room, and watch him as the boy would pretend to sleep, not knowing that the boy, too, had trouble sleeping. And he didn't have any parties, let alone guests in the bedroom. It made Logan worry.

His green eyes starred into the glowing embers of the fire, looking almost lifeless and sad. Logan got up slowly but the man didn't notice or move as he walked toward him.

He put himself between his guardian and the fire and looked down at him. Reaver's eyes finally met his and twinkled in his otherwise lifeless face. The heir bent down so their eyes were level and cocked his head to one side. "You know she'll be fine," he said warmly. Reaver finally turned his head so he could look at him properly. "This is just fun for her. A harmless affair, if you will. Except with war."

Reaver smiled half-heatedly and laughed soundlessly. The boy reminded him so much of Sparrow, yet he was so different in the most perfect of ways. "I love you," he said, very nearly breathlessly.

"I know." Logan smiled.

Closing his eyes, Reaver reached out slowly and touched the smooth, pale skin of the boy's jaw. Logan remained still as his thumb traced the bone lightly down to his chin, then took the hand in his own and brought it up to his lips so he could kiss it. Reaver opened his eyes.

Logan leaned in very, very slowly, watching his guardian carefully, until their lips were inches apart, but ducked out of Reaver's attempt at kissing him and instead found the man's jaw with his scarred lips, just below the ear. He left a trail of kisses down his neck. Reaver tried to protest as the young man climbed into the chair and straddled him, but he looked at him so sweetly that he could deny him nothing.

His hands reached his shoulders and felt them; worked them. "You're so tense," he said sadly. "You ought to do something about that, master," he practically purred. Reaver frowned and turned away, trying to get the boy off of him.

"It's time to go to bed," he said. The boy just chuckled and wrapped his arms around his neck.

"What's wrong with right here?" he asked.

"Go to bed, Logan."

Something about the firmness in Reaver's voice made Logan jump. His face drained of colour and the smile instantly faded from his young face. He fell backwards onto the floor and looked at him in what Reaver thought must be fear. Logan scrambled both backward and to his feet. "What's wrong with you?"

"Is it a game for you? To take my love and make it some child's game? Is it funny for you?" Reaver was on his feet, now, too, and was yelling at the trembling boy.

After stuttering hopelessly for a few moments, Logan finally managed to reply. "N-no! You know very well that I feel just the same way for you, you horrid old man! But I guess it would be easier for you if it was just a game because you don't even know how to love!"

"You're just like your mother," Reaver roared. "A succubus whore!"

They were both crying, now. Reaver couldn't even remember the last time he had cried, and he could remember why he usually avoided it. He wanted to desperately to both smack the boy senseless and to hold him tightly until they had both stopped the dreaded waterworks.

"Oh really? Well then, let's take a look at what you've done to the only people you've ever loved, shall we?" Logan was very apparently angry at this point. "You had the first one brutally killed for the sake of your youth. Yes, WELL DONE." He sputtered a bit of incoherent, sobbing nonsense before continuing. "You drove the woman you loved into the arms of the man who had already destroyed her once, AND THEN you dragged her into an extra-marital affair that nearly tore her apart inside, then you keep insisting you love her when she already has a hard enough time staying away from you. WAY-TO-GO."

After a moment of silence filled with awkward sobbing, Reaver finally said, "And then there's you."

"And then there's me." Logan almost smiled at this. "You said you would look after me and protect me, Reaver. Instead, you used me as some weak replacement for my mother. You had me preforming oral sex on you before I knew what it was. I never stood a chance. That, I think, deserves a round of applause." He clapped for a while, staring his guardian down. "You then proceeded to turn me into a bundle of broken nerves and insecurities as well as a murderer. ABSO-BLOODY-LUTELY FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC!" he screeched at the top of his lungs.

He looked at him, managing to keep his crying under control, though Reaver had no such luck. Logan actually smiled. "You say I'm too much like my mother. But I think the problem for you is that I'm not enough like her." Within seconds he had disappeared through the doorway and was running for his room, leaving a heavily sobbing Reaver behind him. The man fell to his knees and continued shaking violently.

Once in his room, Logan let the anger take over and forgot about suppressing his tears. He stumbled along the wall, knocking over a table and vase on the way to the bathroom adjacent to the room. After studying his reflection in the mirror for sometime, he began to look over the difference between himself and Sparrow - things that he had inherited from his father.

His cheeks were hollow and his eyes sunken, where Sparrow's were pronounce and beautiful. His hair was thin and straight; hers was thick and curly and wonderful. He was skinny and sorry to look at. Then, there was the scar on his lip from his fight with Rose. He felt it gingerly, then felt the reflection.

Without another thought, his fist was through the glass on the wall. His knuckles oozed scarlet and it stung horribly, but was numbed by his slight alcohol intake. And soon enough, the same fist was right through the glass of the window Reaver made sure to keep locked and closed.

After covering his new wounds with a towel, he squeezed his way out of the small opening and was soon climbing down the tall hedge that grew in front of the window. As soon as his feet were on the ground, he took off sprinting to get his horse. He mounted it quickly and was off down the road.

He would have to go find the closest thing to home he had other than the man who had broken his heart. Yes, he would go and stay with Jasper, because he certainly couldn't go to Garth.


	10. As Life Goes On

  
**Act I Part X**   
**As Life Goes On**   


* * *

Logan was not really sure he had thought his plan through entirely once he'd walked up to the door of the farmhouse he'd been born in, and he wasn't sure how Jasper would take his arrival. He'd been led to believe he and Reaver were friends. But, of course, that might not be entirely true, considering Reaver did like to mislead him...

A tear ran down his cheek and he prayed for the tears not come back. He'd managed to tame it about an hour or two before and he was not sure how long a second time might take him. The heir had already suppressed so many feelings for so long without a second thought, and now that they were all coming up again, he was not sure how to shove them down any further. Maybe Jasper might be able to help, however a foolish notion it seemed.

After taking a deep breath, he reached and knocked firmly on the door three times. He wait for a minute, and knocked again. Shortly after, Jasper came to the door in a nightgown looking rather drowsy and disgruntled. The butler looked him over and then looked confused. "The sun's not even up yet. Whatever do you want?"

The prince meant to reply, he really did - he'd planned it out several times in his head along with several possible scenarios to go with it and he'd come up with something rather nice. Instead, something inside of him snapped, and the tears came back nearly instantaneously. And, after a few minutes of him standing there sobbing, Jasper ushered the poor boy into the house and shut the door.

Jasper tended to his wounded hand and put the tea kettle on, and made him some eggs and ham all quite quickly. He insisted the boy eat, and he did while the man sat at the opposite end of the table and watched him intently, sipping his tea quietly. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to know what had happened to drive Logan to come to him, or why he seemed so horribly upset, but he was Sparrow's son and need so desperately to be cared for that it nearly broke his heart to see him cry.

Some warm tea soothed Logan nicely, and Jasper got him some cleaner, warmer clothes and offered him the bigger bed to sleep in. Logan kindly declined and said the smaller bed would do just fine. It had been his bed for a few years before he'd gone to live with Reaver.

He sniffled at the thought and, finally, Jasper could take it no longer. He sat next to him on the bed and wrapped an arm around the boy's trembling shoulder. Logan looked up at him, his lip trembling furiously. "I never want to go back," he said.

Jasper nodded and pulled Logan in closer to himself, suddenly feeling a strange desire to vanquish all those that caused the boy harm. He wished he could protect him from all of the world's cruelties and bring him all of the happiness of the world. It was a strange feeling he couldn't remember ever having felt before, but he thought he might have an idea of what it was, and the thought made him smile, and he thought of Sparrow smiling back at him. Yes, he would do this for her.

"Now, you loved Reaver, right?" Logan nodded. "But, not as a father, or a friend." Logan shook his head and looked at the ground, and Jasper chuckled slightly at his bashfulness.. "Logan, if you're going to stay here with me until your mother gets back, I won't treat like any more of a child than you are, and you aren't much of one. I will respect you, and hopefully you'll respect me, too, and we will be friends. Or..." He paused to think about this himself before saying it. " _Or_ , if you want, I could... love you, I suppose. As... a son."

A few brief moments of silence followed, and Jasper chuckled at himself. "You know, you don't have to worry about me. I assure you that I am very heterosexual."

Logan laughed at this and smiled. "Yes, I think I like that idea."

* * *

It was funny how Sparrow seemed to trust her butler so completely no matter what. He certainly couldn't rely on her for anything at all, yet he liked to try and trust her once and a while. Sometimes she would even make an effort not to let him down, too. Sparrow couldn't understand it herself, but she felt as though she owed him some sort of trust or affection; a feeling which really appeared out of nowhere the day she hired him. It was this strange feeling that she felt in the pit of her stomach, almost like guilt, but at the same time it wasn't.

But war was a funny thing, too, she thought. It had been ages since she'd felt so... alive..? Perhaps that was the word, but she wasn't sure... It was this strange feeling of both fear and adrenaline that just made her feel happy. And she hadn't slept more than five hours for the past week, but she felt well rested and ready to go like a sugared up child. And no matter how much she missed Jasper, and Logan, and Reaver-

No, wait, that wasn't right... Jasper had been at the top of the list, as though he were the first one she'd thought of. And she hadn't begun to think about Garth. Maybe she was just very exhausted, she thought to herself. And, really, if anything she missed Jasper because he would tell her stories to help her sleep and since she hadn't sleep for days... And yes, she missed having him bring her whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. The queen was indeed fairly hungry and tired of the bland, small rations she received. She would have sent for something better, but perhaps she was just too lazy.

Official word was that they were waiting. Waiting for what, exactly, nobody was sure. This grace period lasted for eight more days, and was bone-chillingly quiet. Anticipation lay thick in the air, as well as the eerie silence which made every man's hair stand on end. Despite the lack of action, sentries never slacked - the encampment was indeed heavily guarded, if only to protect the queen herself from any danger. And if it bother anyone, it was Sparrow herself.

The queen was keeping a journal just to keep herself occupied between the very boring talk of strategy. She knew Jasper would be curious when she returned... and probably Garth. Yes, he would also be worrying about her, his wife. But Jasper would be the first person she would see, she supposed... She would stay at the homestead a night before returning, she had decided, as a night of peace, before returning to her busy life. The farm was such a peaceful and warm place...

Something about the castle had always seemed... cold to her. Garth said it was probably the harshness of the walls and the endless echoes that could make one feel so hopelessly lost and alone. An almost poetic thought from the man. The stone was indeed very - quite literally - cold while the farm was constructed of nice – practically kind – wood. And it had been her home for years; it was the home where all of her children had been born.

For some reason, she liked to imagine Jasper when she returned to him, smiling and waving, waiting just as he'd promised with a freshly baked pie just for her. And she would hug him, and he would hug her, and then he would tell her that everything was alright again, and she would be safe, and they would eat the pie and he'd tuck her into bed and tell her a story. If she ever returned.

To her, the so-called talk of strategy seemed fairly purposeless. Walter would have agreed with her. The general would sputter out the same plan, again and again, ask what the queen and Swift thought - and Walter, for good measure. They would tell him, every time the same as before, that they were still just fine with it, and Walter and Swift would then ask if their opinion on the matter should really be taken into account and if there wasn't someone of higher rank than a 2nd lieutenant who should be there in their place. Then it was explained to them, the same way every time, by Sparrow, that procedure to the queen wasn't 'worth shit'.

It was obvious to anyone with a brain that the general was just trying to stall for as long as possible, in some misguided hope that the bandits would all disappear. He could honestly say the whole conflict didn't really make all that much sense; a bunch of bandits got together and that meant that an entire army had to get together and fight it out with them. There wasn't much sense to it – it was a civil war at best.

Sparrow liked Walter very much. Not very much at first, but he did indeed like her very much and decided he would win over her friendly affections. He didn't really have to do much, as she already enjoyed his company and was quite the fan of his general attitude towards life - however you might describe it – and his humour. But then, he would bring her some extra food he'd found, like the chocolate the general had been hoarding, and she was very grateful.

They had a love affair, her and the chocolate. Some of the finest stuff around, anyone would say. Sparrow would even lick her fingers shamelessly and even scrap out every last bit of crumbs or melted smudges that she could, even in the company of others, which Walter found rather entertaining. So, yes, she was thankful and did indeed like him quite a bit. She decided they would stay friends, and she would tell him about Jasper and how well they would get along.

After a week of waiting and another of Mourningwood's stalling, another troop of soldiers rolled in, deciding that they'd like to take over the state of affairs and see if they couldn't get things moving along.

"Go home, princess, and leave the war to the men," the leader of the group had said. He was a general, too, only he seemed to have no respect for the hero. Garth had apparently sent for him, knowing him from his years working for Lord Lucien, in hopes he might convince Sparrow to return home before she got hurt. His was name Solomon Turner, and he very obviously did not like Sparrow one bit.

"Don't you realize who you're speaking to?" she had demanded, her face growing red as a tomato, looking up at him as he rode along on his fancy horse all rather offensively 'fancy-like'. "You, ser, are serving under me, and that's something you'd best not forget." She was obviously quite offended by him, taking what he said personally. She didn't know he shared that contempt for anyone who declared their-self Albion's monarch. "I want him gone," she told Mourningwood.

Francis shrugged as though he hadn't quite understood her. He didn't really want to have it out with the other general, and he quite liked the idea of having someone take over. Maybe that way, he could avoid the battle entirely; a thought which delighted the coward immensely, needless to say. Sparrow, however, wanted to hit him very hard. In his face. With her fist. Repeatedly.

"I'm here under the order of the king himself and, seeing as your on a bit of a...  _hiatus_ from your royal duties at the moment, I don't think that there's much you can do in regards to my presence," he said.

"Might I point out that we were here first?" she said, realizing how stupid it sounded long before it left her lips.

* * *

 _'My dearest of Jaspers,_  
I'm not as well as I'd like to be. I've been eating too much chocolate lately, I suppose. If I go into battle like this, I'm sure to cramp up.  
Today, a two-assed horse rode into camp and decided it owned the place. And apparently, he pretty does thanks to our very fine king, Garth. I'm so completely thrilled that I could throw up. And he's decided that too little progress is being made with our scouting missions, so we're apparently just going to charge into battle the day after tomorrow.  
I'm not sure when you'll get this, or if I'll write again. If I don't, then it's safe to assume I'm either dead or on my way to your arms. No, scratch that - terribly worded. Well, balls, it's in pen and I don't want to scribble it out. Just pretend I said something different.  
I trust all is well with you and that you're having a lovely vacation away from bratty old me. I hope Garth is enjoying his peace and quiet for the time being, because when I get home, he's getting hell.  
If I get home...  
Well, I'll be thinking of you.

_Sincerely,  
Sparrow'_

Jasper set the letter down and sighed. No, he didn't care much for where this was all headed, and he certainly didn't find her uncertainty amusing - whether it was sarcastic or not. But his thoughts were interrupted by Logan wishing to hear news of his mother. If anything, he just hoped she'd return. For Logan's sake. And for his own.


	11. As The Tension Builds

  
**Act I Part XI**   
**As The Tension Builds**   


* * *

The morning's arrival was met with silent awakenings and stealthy preparation for Albion's army. A gentle wind blew through the towering trees of the forest stealthily, quietly whispering to the men and woman in the camp. Hardly a bird called, or flew through the skies, as though they all knew of what would happen later that day in their home. Walter found this particularly eerie, and told Swift so, who thought nothing of it but sad. So the Lieutenant simply went back to vigilantly watching the skies overhead, searching for some sort of life, until a single sparrow flew overhead.

Walter shuddered.

Something about the stillness of the cold air made Sparrow nervous. It made her think of mornings in the garden after a night of handling Garth sloppily throwing himself upon her after 'drinking away his foolish politics', as he called it. That was what most nights consisted of of late, which made her wonder if he even loved her anymore. No, now she only got love from Logan. That's why she visited him so frequently; he would always care for her. He needed nothing more from her but her own love.

Just before morning would come, she would never feel... right. She would sneak out of bed and into the garden and sit at the foot of Rose's statue. Then she would walk and sit in the gazebo hidden in the hedge, where she felt safe, and she gazed out across  _her_  Bowerstone –  _her home_. Jasper would find her before sunrise, and he would smile, and she would smile, and he would hold her hand, and they would watch the sun rising above Albion together, and she would cry.

Jasper was really the best friend she'd ever had, considering he wasn't a sex maniac like Reaver. In fact, he was modest, if anything. Sort of a prude, too. She wrinkled her nose at that thought and laughed noiselessly. But, when it came down to it all, she missed Hammer like nothing else. It would be nice to have a female friend for once, she thought. And she'd always been a good friend when she'd been there. Now, however, she hardly ever saw the Hero of Strength. This thought made her sad.

Then there was that terrible pain in her heart. It kept bothering her lately. It had been there even before she had hired Jasper, but it had only gotten worse since. Deep within her heart – her  _soul_ – was a longing so powerful and overwhelming that it brought tears to her eyes. Longing for a simpler time. For the time before everything had happened, before it all got complicated. When it was only her, and Garth, alone, in their little forest hideaway.

When there had been no Jasper, or even a need for Jasper. And there was no guilt, and no memories of Reaver, or how wrong and yet wonderful he had felt. And Logan was never on her mind, and she owed nothing to anyone. When Garth loved her alone, and, she; him. It was a longing for his loving touch, and his loving eyes, as he gently caressed her pale skin, and there was nothing but him and his warmth and her love for him. That was all she ever needed, all she thought about and all there ever was. But she couldn't ever have that again, no matter how desperately her own sanity depended on it.

She stood up and went to find Walter.

As she passed by them, the soldiers all paused their preparations and bowed – which she hoped they wouldn't do in battle. Some soldiers were sharpening swords, polishing pistols, saddling horses and saying their prayers to whatever gods they could, even the ones made up by lowly merchants. It was the first time she'd heard Avo used in a way other than a curse.

He was in his tent, as she suspected he would be. As she entered, he quickly hopped up off the crate he was sitting on and rubbed his eyes with his fist. In his other hand was a piece of worn parchment which had evidently been handled enormously over its lifetime. Walter looked at her, and cleared his throat to end the silence. "I, um, wasn't expecting you..." His eyes wandered through the mess.

Sparrow shrugged. "I'm sorry for bothering you. I just... really wanted to see you, never mind the inappropriateness of that. I only need to keep my mind occupied to keep myself from going completely insane." She chuckled humorlessly. "What's that?" she asked, gesturing toward the letter in Walter's hand.

"A letter," he replied coolly.

She chuckled again, this time far more genuinely than before, a smile gracing her lips for the first time in a while. "That much is obvious, Walter." They both stood in silence, smiling at each other. It was a nice feeling. "From who?"

"My sister, Marni. I'm the only family she's got left, you see." His smile faded, and he turned his gaze toward the ground. "Her fellow left; the bastard. Skipped town with some hussy. And our parents... they've been gone for years." He looked up at her again, his smile returning, but his voice faltering as he spoke, "She's having a baby in a few days. I just hope I'm back in time, you know? She's my baby sister... she shouldn't have to be alone, right?"

Suddenly, they were hugging. Sparrow had stepped forward, to comfort him, and he ended up crushing her in his strong arms. Not that she minded. In fact, she was thankful that she could bury her face in his warm, sweet smelling coat. Tears welled up in her eyes. She missed her big sister.

Walter quickly stepped back, and Sparrow wiped the tears from her eyes. "I- I'm sorry," he said quickly, deepening his voice, and puffing out his chest in some last attempt to earn back her respect for him as a man after losing himself like that. "That was a bit... embarrassing to say the least."

This made her laugh through the tears, making her into an even bigger mess. But she felt better for it. "It's quite alright. More than alright, even. I understand, Walter. I do." They stood in an awkward silence for a few moments, both unsure of what to say. "So... any names in the works?"

They both laughed. "Well, I'm really hoping for a tough little nephew, and I personally like the name 'Osmund'. It's very tough."

"And sort of... laughable."

He scoffed. "Well, either way, if it's a boy, she likes Elliot. It's not like my opinion matters, as her brother..."

"And for a girl?"

"Our mother's name was Elise. We both agreed that would be nice."

Sparrow smiled and hummed tunelessly. "That  _is_ nice."

* * *

"... _k_ now  _that my thoughts are with-_ ughhh...  _you. I miss you terribly, as we-_ eh-eh- _ll as Logan. Give him my- a_ hhh... _love. Let him know I-_ ughnnn...  _fight for him._ " Having read the scribbled signature of his queen, Reaver let the letter he had been reading aloud fall to his feet. He took a swig of whiskey and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead. A heavy sighed escaped his parted lips.

He couldn't lie; he'd been a mess since Logan had run away. But he knew there was no sense in chasing after the boy, no matter how desperately he wanted to. He hated being the one at fault, and this was obviously the case. The guilt had been unbearable, so he drunk his days away and tried to keep his mind off of the subject with his sexy parties and various partners in the bedroom, though it was no use. Nobody could replace Logan.

His knees grew weaker, and his legs threatened to give in, but he was too good for that. "Can you believe this garbage?" he asked the few people in his bed, craning his neck so he could see them. He chuckled, and they all followed suit, unsure of how they should feel, but not wishing to upset the clearly unstable man. Who, in their right mind, after all, upset a naked man holding a pistol who was piss-ass drunk?

"Ha. Ha. Hahaha- ahhhh... ughnnn..." His laughter was cut short, as his body shook involuntarily, the as the release that had building from the fellatio he was being given finally overtaking him. But he held a straight face, the emotionless business man he was. And business was all it was.

When the man knelt before him stood, he looked him dead in the eye and smirked wickedly. As the man he struggled to remember the name of made a move in toward him, he quickly brought his pistol up and shot him square in the forehead. "Like I'd want to kiss you after  _that_."

If there was anything he knew about anything lately - and it seemed to him as though he knew nothing of late - was this; nobody was worth tasting unless it  _her._  Or  _him_ , for all he cared. Like mother, like son, he thought, smiling.

The room went dead silent in response. Reaver simply shrugged it all off and disappeared down the hallway, still completely in the nude. His feet carried him to his study, though he had never given any thought to where he was actually going. He simply obeyed, and allowed himself to be brought before his desk. And his hands, too, acted without his brain, opening the upper-left drawer and pulling out every letter Sparrow had ever sent him. That drawer was special; the knob was golden like the rest, but several tiny gems had been worked in around it. He liked it.

Once, when he had visited the castle, he had seen the inside of Sparrow's study. She had shown him her desk – which she had stolen from his manor in Bloodstone – and where she kept various things. He smiled, remembering her refusing to open her upper-left drawer. It was locked, of course, but he wrestled the key off of her and opened it for himself. It was where she kept all of his letters, as well as 'photo', he believed it was called.

Yes, that man with the box had taken it. Sparrow had known him. And he shot him, right in front of her, and she had held him as he died, and she spoke his name... Barnum, it was. It had never occurred to him that it had been 'developified'. He had locked the device away in his attic... But, yes, he supposed she had stayed there for those few months after...

He could never seem to fathom how Garth had always managed to keep such a firm grip on Sparrow's heart, even after he had left her, when he had always loved her with all his heart. And yes, he hated to admit it, but he was jealous, and he longed for her so badly he feared his heart may break. He needed to hold her close to him, no matter the impossibility of it all, and he would give anything to have her come home to him. He would glad give anything he had ever had with Logan simply to have her. But it was impossible. And Logan was all he would have, so he knew he had to get him back.


	12. Can't Hold On, Can't Let Go

  
**Act I Part XII**   
**Can't Hold On, Can't Let Go**   


* * *

"WALTER!"

It was hell. Men lay everywhere either dead or dying. Swords clashed, pistols fired left and right. The worst was over, though, for sure. It was time for the final push. But something inside her stomach made Sparrow feel sick. She had lost Walter moments earlier, and couldn't see him anywhere. She didn't even want to search the ground for him. The mere thought that she might just have to brought tears to her eyes.

Sparrow had not expected such a violent battle. These men were trained, as well as organized. Almost as much so as the soldiers she'd brought into battle. The havoc they could have easily wreaked on the kingdom had they been left to their business would have been the end of them. If group had grown any larger...

When they'd first marched into battle, Sparrow had been admittedly terrified. Enough so that she'd begged Walter not to leave her side. Or to let go of her hand. The thought of him holding on to her was more than enough comfort for her to relax a bit. It had been so long since she'd last rode into battle. She wasn't fearless anymore. She had so much more to live for; so much more to love and hold dear that she couldn't bear the thought of leaving it all behind, and so she feared death.

Not only did she feel like she owed it to herself to live, but she felt like she owed so much to Logan, who she'd had neglected so much over his short life, when she loved him so much, and he didn't even know. And if anything, getting to go home and hold him again and tell him that she would never leave him ever again and that she would love him like she was supposed to - that was worth living for. Logan needed her, just as he always had, so what gave her the right to die now? To die here, before she could tell him one last time that his mother loved him more than anything, and that she was sorry for everything, and that if she could go back, she would not have taken her anger out on him for whatever life she'd had to lead, and she would not have left him with Reaver, of all people.

Looking back, she'd made so many mistakes, and she now realized she had so many things to make up for that she had not done, things that she had regretted not doing, and things she most certainly regretting doing, or allowed to happen. And she could not die now, and make all of pain and suffering useless, after all this time, and all her fighting. She had to live, and fight some more, and fix her mistakes and love what she had neglected. She was not content in her current life and she would not allow herself to go down now, before she was truly happy, without a fight.

Explosions were going off every which way. People and various miscellaneous parts flew off in every possible direction. A severed hand actually flew out and hit Sparrow square in the jaw. Even the dead were still fighting, she thought. Whatever humour lay in that statement was lost on her as another mortar shot and the blast came just a few feet away. Her ears began ringing something awful.

Walter, right. She still had to find Walter.

Something in Sparrow's stomach felt wrong. And then, she spotted him, a good twenty or thirty yards away. With a swift couple slashes of her cutlass, she sliced four men clean in half with almost no problem. And here she was, thinking herself out of practice. She cut her way through the crowd, until she was just steps away from Walter, who was laughing and slicing and dicing and having a grand old time, as far as battles go.

She half-smiled to herself, almost forgetting where she was, but kept up her fight full-force, just as he did, until they were side-by-side, cutting bandits down left, right and centre like proper heroes. Sparrow felt like her old, fiery self again. "Hello, Walter, how are you?" she asked as casually as she possibly could with blood splattering all over her clothes and face, which was surprisingly casual, actually.

"Oh, I'm fine," Walter replied with slight strain in his voice. He was getting tired, Sparrow could tell, but he wasn't going to give up anytime soon. That, she was sure of. "I'm definitely feeling much better now that you're here, my queen, I must say. Not just because I was missing you and thought I'd lost you back there. But because you're Albion's greatest warrior." He probably would have smiled, but he may have gotten blood in his mouth, and that would just be unpleasant for everyone involved. "This seems but a dream, my queen."

There was bandit standing about ten yards in front of them. Sparrow could see him clearly, now. For some reason, he stood out among the rest. And with the screams, and battle cries, and explosions and gunshots, she could have sworn she could hear this man take deep breath – hardly over over the sound of her heart beat, but she did – as he brought his pistol up. It all seemed to slow down, and Sparrow felt sick. And she looked him dead in the eye, almost completely frozen in place, and he met her eyes with – not an icy, cold stare of a criminal, but - the soft eyes of a child. Then, he looked to Walter. As he slowly pulled back on the trigger, she could not move a single muscle.

When the shot fired, she sprung from her position next to Walter and in front of him. She had no idea why she did, and he certainly had no idea why the queen had jumped so suddenly in front of him as though to block his path of destruction. Then he realized what had happened. And he let out the faintest, broken whimper, like a scared child, and felt a single tear well up in his eye. In his confusion, his reaction was horribly slow. He tried to push her out of the way, but it was already too late.

The shot hit her with a remarkable force that nothing could have prepared her for – except for maybe getting shot in the chest. Because she had just just been shot in chest, and she couldn't breathe, and she felt so bone-chillingly cold that she couldn't even remember what not being cold had even felt like. She felt like every last bit of life was being squeezed out of her body, and every last memory seemed to be floating in the air in front of her, escaping from her weak grasp, and she could hardly see anything at all anymore.

She would not have even known Walter was holding her tightly and sobbing into her blood-soaked mid-section had he not spoken to her. She could hardly hear him over the ringing in her ears and the bloody battle going on around them. "I've got you, Sparrow. Don't worry, old girl, I won't let you go. Don't you leave me now, my friend. You're going to go home, and see your boy, and you'll introduce me to that butler of yours, because you know we'll be good friends. We'll all be good friends. You can't leave me now, Sparrow. Why'd you have to do that? You didn't have to do that. You  _have_  to live now. You'll get up and walk away from this thing. C'mon, Sparrow, stay with me!"

A few of her soldiers took noticed and came running to their side, fending off the hoard to protect their hero queen and her sobbing friend. They called for help and a doctor – for anyone to come and help her get away from the blood bath. The other dying men could wait - she was their queen and they could not let her die now. She would be fine. She would produce another heir. She would rule their kingdom for many years to come, and she would die an old woman, in her bed, not on the battlefield of a stupid, pointless fight against a bunch of bandits.

Her eyes were filled with tears, and starting to flicker closed. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. Even if she had been able to speak, she simply had no idea what she was would even say. To think she might never wake up from the the sleep that was surrounding her – that caressed her and called to her softly – and that she may never say anther word. Not to Logan, who she loved with all her heart; not to Garth, her husband; not to Jasper, her best and, well, only friend. Not to Reaver. And something, for some reason, hurt much more as the last thought that crossed her mind. Her gasp of pain was audible to Walter. Through the blood bubbling out from between her rose-petal lips, she tried one final time to speak, "Re-... I... Re-..." She relaxed and closed her eyes, letting Walter embrace her cold body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act 1 - END


End file.
